


The exchange

by Maroucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 95,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/pseuds/Maroucia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In King's Landing, Sansa is about to be part of a well waited exchange. AU.</p><p>Beta-ed by Wildsky_Sheri.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

This story takes place a few moon turns after the Blackwater Battle in a parallel world where Sandor has not flee and not gone to Sansa’s chamber.

 

**Sansa**

The Red Keep’s godwood was a beautiful place at night, especially with the full moon shining in the sky and giving off enough light for Sansa to discern every detail of the peaceful sanctuary, almost as if the sun was still up in the sky. _I wish I could stay here, at least a little longer_ , she thought regretfully as she left the heart tree that she usually favored for her daily prayers. She had lingered there long enough though and since Sansa preferred to draw as little attention as possible to herself, she hurried back into the dark corridor that led to Maegor's Holdfast with no further hesitation.

The long hall was empty and for a while, Sansa believed that she would be lucky enough to get to her chamber without bumping into anyone. Her foolish hopes were short-lived; a sudden panic took her over as she heard distant men laughing followed by the jingling of armour, both getting louder by the second. _It’s Ser Meryn’s voice!_ Sansa realized with dread, while hastily looking around to find a place to hide from the man that she had come to hate and fear. With relief, she spied an alcove along the corridor and ran toward it; her thin body would easily fit into its shadowy corner and with some luck, the approaching knights would not glance in her direction and would pass by without ever suspecting that Sansa was standing so close to them. The voices were getting worryingly close when she finally reached the alcove, her heart in her throat. As quickly as she could, Sansa slipped into the darkness but bumped into something. She almost screamed in fear as she felt a movement behind her but a strong hand hastily muffled her mouth, preventing any sound from escaping her lips.

“Hush, little bird! Stay calm and they won’t see you,” she heard a low rasping voice whisper in her ear as a thick arm circled her front to keep her from squirming.

 _The Hound! Of course it would be him_ , Sansa reflected as she stopped moving, obedient as ever. It was far from the first occasion that she stumbled into Sandor Clegane during her nocturnal wanderings. The man apparently had a habit of frequenting the dark corners of the Red Keep during his free time; he always appeared when Sansa was least expecting it but since he had never reported any of their impromptu encounters to the king or the queen, Sansa tried to soothe her nerves. _Better that I bump into him than into anyone else,_ she mused.Although she knew it to be true, that reasoning had limited success and Sansa’s uneasiness was quickly escalating. She could feel the Hound staring down at her from where he stood behind her, raggedly breathing into her hair as he kept his arm tight around her and a hand firmly pressed against her mouth. Reluctantly, Sansa leaned further into the huge man’s queer and unloving embrace, shutting her eyes tightly while praying to the Gods with that gesture that she might completely disappear from Ser Meryn’s sight 

The knights had gotten close enough for Sansa to conclude that they were only two; she could now discern their words and her attention was suddenly caught by their conversation.

“So, they’re going to send the Stark girl home. Too bad, she was getting pretty pleasant to look upon,” Meryn was telling the other man.

“Who cares about looking when you can’t touch?” the unknown knight scoffed, before sniggering. “King Joffrey is going to lose his favourite toy but the girl’s torment isn’t over yet: can’t wait to see her face when she learns who has volunteered to bring her back to her family!”

Ser Meryn apparently shared the mirth of his companion. “Who would have thought that that old piece of furniture would be willing to leave his post to wander across the Riverlands? The queen wanted to send them away as soon as tomorrow but it won’t be possible since the…” The voice of Ser Meryn trailed away as the men continued on their path until Sansa could not distinguish his words anymore.

For a moment, Sansa didn’t know what to believe but after her initial scepticism, she felt as if her heart was about to explode from the abrupt surge of joy that was taking over. _Am I truly to go home?_ No words had ever sounded so sweet to her ears. The news was so liberating that for a short instant she completely forgot that the Hound still had his arms locked around her. When she regained some of her senses, Sansa jerked her head upward to look at him; he was gazing down at her and his eyes were gleaming in the darkness in such a weird way that she felt a shudder go down her spine. The studs of his leather jerkin were hard and uncomfortable against the thin fabric of her dress and the hilt of his sword was boring into her lower back. _Why isn’t he letting me go now that Ser Meryn is gone?_ she wondered as she nervously avoided his stare and tried to break free from his iron grasp. After a few seconds of struggling on her part, the Hound finally freed her and she immediately took a few steps away from him.

Out of breath and still slightly shaken by their previous proximity, Sansa managed nonetheless to regain enough of her composure to break the awkward silence that stood between them. “Thank you, my lord. That was kind of you to… not reveal me to Ser Meryn,” she said timidly, already convinced that he would find a way to mock her as he always did.

She was right; the Hound snorted as he heard her thanks before replying hoarsely, “What was I supposed to do? Let myself get bloody caught by _Ser Meryn_ while hiding in that dark alcove with the king’s betrothed?” He barked a laugh at that while slowly approaching Sansa. “My _noble_ _brothers_ of the Kingsguard are all a bunch of buggering halfwits but none of them would be fool enough to believe that we were _chatting_ in there; even you should know that, little bird _._ ”The Hound smirked and grabbed Sansa’s chin to lift her jaw before adding, “I like my head on my shoulders, where it’s meant to be.”

With hesitation, Sansa shyly raised her eyes to look at him and after a moment, the man let go of her chin and spoke. “You heard what they were saying, didn’t you?”

“I did, my lord,” she answered in a nervous but polite tone.

“Aren’t you happy, little bird? You’re going to be free of that golden cage you’ve been kept in for so long,” The Hound snorted at that. “I’d wager your family will put you in another one as soon as they see you. Can’t be worse than this one though.” A scornful laugh that sounded as if it came from the very depths of his throat reverberated through the corridor as he clutched Sansa’s upper arm with a strong hand. “Come on, little bird, you’re not free yet. I’ll take you to your room,” he said as he pulled her out of the alcove.

They walked briskly through the dim corridor, the Hound wordlessly staring in front of him with piercing eyes while Sansa tiredly tried to keep pace with him, her mind completely elsewhere. The words of Ser Meryn were still echoing in her ears:

“So, they’re going to send the Stark girl home,”she kept hearing over and over again.

Never in a million years would she have predicted that man’s mouth could ever utter anything that would fill her heart with so much exaltation. She smiled to herself but suddenly froze. _What if the king changes his mind? How can I be certain that he won’t reverse his decision at the last minute as he so often does?_ Worry that her newfound hopes would be crushed as swiftly as they had arisen was quick to sprout in her mind as Sansa realised that she had no notion whatsoever of the motives that had compelled her captors to free her from their grip. There had to be indubitably good reasons for them to let go of such a valuable hostage and Sansa was quite curious to learn their nature. In an instinctive movement, the young girl turned her head toward the Hound who was still by her side, his fingers as tightly clasped around her upper arm as a hawk’s feet on prey. Sandor Clegane was Joffrey’s sworn shield and followed the king as faithfully as his own shadow; he almost assuredly witnessed the events that had led to that decision, if only Sansa was bold enough to ask him.

As she was pondering how she could broach the subject, the Hound, who had probably felt Sansa’s gaze on him, lowered prying eyes on her. “What is it?” he asked dryly.

Her heart began to beat faster and she immediately turned her head around to avoid the man’s intense stare but Sansa nonetheless decided to divulge her preoccupation to him. “I was wondering if you knew why King Joffrey has agreed to let me go back to my family.”

From the corner of her eye, Sansa could see the Hound smirk at her question. “As a matter of fact, I do. They’re going to exchange you for the Kingslayer. Your _kingly_ brother has sent an envoy with a proposition and our _good_ king has agreed to it.”

“Oh, is that true?” Sansa still had a hard time believing that this was not just some cruel jape on Joffrey’s part and that she wouldn’t end up even more wounded and disillusioned than she was already.

As Sansa muttered these words to herself, the Hound almost instantly scowled and eyed her with annoyance. “Why would I lie about that? Tell me!” he snapped.

Sansa jumped as she heard his harsh retort. “I was only incredulous about the situation. I… I know you’re no liar, my lord,” she said weakly.

The Hound only grunted at that before quickening his pace as they reached the serpentine steps. The stairs were very steep and Sansa was out of breath; she almost fell a few times on their way up but the Hound either didn’t notice or care about her stumbles. Sandor Clegane was back to the brooding silence that so often enveloped him and he didn’t so much as spare her a glance.

When they arrived in front of her chamber, the Hound freed Sansa’s arm but grabbed her chin instead to make sure that she looked at him as he spoke. “Listen to me, girl. Tomorrow, the king and the queen will want to tell you about that _exchange_ you’ll be a part of. You weren’t supposed to hear about it, they wanted to be the first ones to break the news to you. You’re as bad a liar as it comes, but do your _fucking_ best to seem surprised or else they’ll be suspicious. You don’t want that, do you, little bird?”

“No, of course not. Thank you for warning me, my lord,” Sansa said while keeping anxious eyes on him.

The Hound’s steely grey eyes stayed on hers for what appeared to Sansa as an interminable moment before he abruptly turned around and disappeared into the obscurity of the stairs. For a few seconds, Sansa stared at the shadowy corridor in a trance-like state while rubbing her chin where she still felt a slight pang. _I’m going to go home!_ she realised as she opened the door and entered her room, a huge grin forming on her lips. She jumped on her bed and closed her eyes with a relieved sigh while dreams of innocence timidly touched her scarred soul.

_*****_

It was past midday when she finally heard a knock on her door.

“Who is it?” Sansa asked, suddenly nervous.

“Ser Boros. I’m to bring you to His Grace. The king has asked for you, Lady Sansa,” a low-pitched voice formally answered back.

Sansa’s eyes widened in expectation. _I’m going to be told about my exchange with the Kingslayer! Be natural; act as if you have no clue of what is to come._ She took a deep breath and opened the door. Ser Boros was stoic as usual, gazing in her direction with empty eyes.

“Follow me, my lady,” he grunted before starting to walk.

It was a beautiful day and the air was warm but Sansa was nonetheless shaking like a leaf, afraid as she was that something might have happened and that Joffrey had changed his mind. _What if I have to stay here after all? I couldn’t stand it after all the hopes that I was given yesterday,_ she thought while biting her lip.

There was also something else that was bothering her. At first, when she had overheard his conversation, Sansa had not given a second thought to a comment that Ser Meryn had uttered - his remark had been lost in a sea of more appealing information, but now that she’d had all night to think it over, she was beginning to obsess over that mysterious detail.

“The girl’s torment isn’t over yet: can’t wait to see her face when she learns who has volunteered to bring her back to her family!” Meryn had said in a mean tone that promised nothing good.

Who could be the dreadful person that the knights had prattled about? It wasn’t Ser Meryn obviously, since he was the one to bring the matter up. Perhaps Ser Boros? Sansa quickly glanced at him but dismissed the idea. She didn’t like the man at all but he was not so terrible that Ser Meryn would laugh with enthusiasm at the simple notion that he would be the one escorting her back to her family. A shiver went down Sansa’s spine as apprehension over who it might be invaded her mind like a biting winter wind that froze her to the bone. _Please Mother, I beg your mercy. I don’t want it to be him! Not him! Please!_ Ser Meryn had mentioned that the man in question was an _old piece of furniture_ who never left his post; who had been around the Lannisters longer than… Ser Ilyn Payne! The mere mention of the name of the king’s justice made Sansa tremble in fright; something about that man terrified her. He was even scarier than the Hound and it wasn’t as if she felt comfortable around Joffrey’s dog either _. I should’ve asked him who’ll escort me yesterday; he probably knew it and would’ve told me if I had asked,_ she mused regretfully as Ser Boros led her into the throne room.

“Ah! Here she is! Sansa, come here!” Joffrey yelled at her from the gigantic iron throne as soon as he saw her.

Obedient as ever, Sansa hastily approached the king and knelt before him, her eyes lowered respectfully to the ground. She could feel the weight of the stares of the entire court. 

“Sansa, I have some news for you. Would you like to hear it?” the king asked in a weird mix of contempt and interest.

“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” Sansa gently answered while raising her eyes to the boy that she despised so much. 

“Mother, tell her!” 

Sansa turned her gaze to the queen who was beautiful and elegant as always in a rich crimson velvet gown. “Sansa, my sweet child,” she said in a voice as soft as silk, “we have reached an agreement with your family and you will be returned to your brother in exchange for the king’s uncle: Ser Jaime Lannister. As much as it pains me to give you back to those traitors, it was the only possible solution that would get my brother back. I hope you’re not too disappointed since your betrothal to the king is obviously cancelled with that exchange.” The woman was smiling sweetly at Sansa but her inquisitive eyes were boring into her in an invading, almost aggressive manner. 

The throne room was getting warmer by the second as Sansa felt her face flush in embarrassment. _Be natural,_ she told herself, remembering the advice that Sandor Clegane had given her the night before.

“You’re as bad a liar as it comes,” he had told her, “but do your _fucking_ best to seem surprised or else they’ll be suspicious.”

She knew the man was gazing at her from where he stood not far from the king, but she kept her eyes on Joffrey and his mother as she finally reacted to their announcement. 

“I… I truly regret that this has to be. I was looking forward to our wedding day and counting the turns of the moon impatiently,” she reeled off in a quick, low voice. 

“Little hypocrite,” the queen whispered. 

Sansa didn’t miss the woman’s crude comment but nonetheless kept her eyes on the floor and pretended that she hadn’t heard anything while shaking nervously.

“Your will depart two days from now,” the king said with enthusiasm. An ugly grin appeared on his cocky face as he added in a satisfied tone, “You’ll be in good company on your travels; one of my most loyal retainers has volunteered to escort you to the exchange point that has been agreed with your _traitor_ brother.” The king jerked his head around and looked at the Hound, an evil gleam shining in his bright green eyes. “Dog, come closer.” 

Sandor Clegane approached the king and lowered his gaze before rasping, “Yes, Your Grace?” 

“Will you be ready to leave the city the day after the morrow as we have agreed, dear dog?” Joffrey asked the Hound, while expectantly staring at Sansa. If the king was hoping for a reaction, he was certainly not disappointed: Sansa’s eyes widened and her mouth gaped in shock as she realised who the mystery escort she had worried so much about was. _Why didn’t he tell me last night?!_

“Yes, I will. In fact, I could even depart on the morrow but I’m sure that Lady Sansa will be thankful to have an additional day to prepare herself,” the Hound said while glancing at Sansa with what appeared to be a hint of amusement at her response.

 _Oh! What a horrible man; he’ll never stop mocking me,_ she thought angrily.

“You’re more gallant than I believed you were. Not a very common trait for dogs!” The king giggled at his own joke like a child. 

The queen glanced at her son for a moment before turning her gaze on the Hound. “Sandor Clegane, how many men will you need for your mission?” 

“I told the king yesterday that I needed no one, apart from a squire.”

Reproachful whispers were heard all over the throne room.

The queen raised a hand to demand silence. “No one would ever doubt your capacity to defend yourself, but the roads are dangerous these days, especially in the Riverlands. It might be wise to reconsider your decision.” She smiled dryly before adding, “Furthermore, it would be highly improper for a maiden such as Lady Sansa to travel alone with two men without the company of at least one handmaiden.” 

“Better to be fewer in number on the roads at times like these. A large party would attract too much attention and I don’t want to be slowed down by a bunch of maids that don’t know a thing about horseback riding,” the Hound hoarsely explained. 

Unease was plain on the queen’s graceful face and the hush that had fallen over the court was thick with disapproval. The king, on the other hand, was undoubtedly thrilled by the turn of events. “Why should we bother preserving Lady Sansa’s reputation? I couldn’t care less about what will become of her virtue now that she’s not promised to me anymore.” The queen stayed silent and after an instant, Joffrey clapped his hands to conclude the hearing, “It’s settled then. Come with me, dog,” he said while standing up before heading to the door. 

Sansa watched as Sandor Clegane faithfully followed his master out of the great hall. The court shortly followed but the young maiden stayed on her knees in front of the throne for a long moment afterward, not certain of how she should feel about the knowledge that she would spend the next few weeks alone in the company of the Hound and of a squire that she didn’t even know. _I’ll be with Mother and Robb very soon; that’s what truly matters_ , she mused in a vain attempt to reassure herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sansa**

The first rays of morning light were only timidly beginning to reach her small chamber and the air that entered by the slightly-opened window still had the freshness of the cold autumn nights but Sansa was nonetheless starting to grow impatient. She had been ready to depart for hours; her nervousness had made it almost impossible for her to fall asleep and so Sansa had finally given up all hope of being decently rested on the morrow and got out of bed in the black of night. By candlelight, she dressed in the woollen grey dress, warm stockings and underclothes that she had prepared the day before and tightly braided her long auburn hair. After making her bed, Sansa had neatly laid over the rich blankets a woollen grey cloak lined with dark fur that had once belonged to her mother and that she had so often worn at Winterfell. The sight of that familiar garment brought a momentary smile to her lips 

On the previous day, Sansa had packed the few belongings that she cared to bring along, choosing only the essential and more practical as it wouldn’t be possible to carry much on horseback. Since she had outgrown most of her gowns, it wasn’t such a big loss to leave her once-beloved summer silks behind. Servants had already carried her luggage to the stables hours ago; all that was left for Sansa to do was to sit by the window and anxiously twiddle her thumbs as the sun rose on the capital.

As the poison of fear that no-one would come and that this had all been a cruel play orchestrated only with an intention to torment her further began to crawl into her mind, Sansa finally heard a strong knock on the door. Without hesitation, she opened the heavy lock, too excited to even think to enquire about the identity of her visitor. In a strident creak, the thick wooden door slid open to reveal a young man who couldn’t be much older than Sansa standing in the corridor. He was blond of hair, fair of face and his shoulders were covered by a rich crimson velvet cloak; Sansa would have taken him for Joffrey’s brother if she didn’t know better. 

“Lady Sansa, I’m Julius of House Lannister of Lannisport. I’ll be a member of the escort that will lead you to the area of the Golden Tooth so that you may be exchanged fo Ser Jaime Lannister,” he recited in a pompous but serious tone.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she replied, curtseying gracefully to the young man. After shyly raising puzzled eyes to him, Sansa politely asked, “You talked of an escort; how many will we be? I thought the Hound had asked for only a squire to accompany us.” 

The young man frowned at her question. “I _am_ the squire you’ve been told of, and the Hound and I are your escort. Isn’t that enough for you? Or do you believe that you deserve an _honour_ guard?” he retorted while glaring at her. 

Sansa jumped at his sudden unfriendliness. _Nothing new with Lannisters,_ she concluded before vainly trying to explain herself. “Of course not! It’s just that… the way you were talking, it seemed as if-”

“The king was right,” Julius interrupted her with a smirk on his lips, “you _are_ a stupid girl. Follow me now. I’m to bring you to the throne room for your farewells to the court.” With that, Julius turned around and walked away from her. 

Sansa glanced in his direction as she re-entered her room. _Am I to be surrounded by cocky Lannisters for the rest of my life?_ she desperately wondered as she swiftly draped her cloak around her shoulders and quickly ran after Julius. The young man was already halfway down the serpentine steps when she finally caught up with him. With a sigh, Sansa resigned herself. _One more blond-haired boy can be handled for a few more weeks;_ _it’s a low price to pay to regain my freedom after all,_ she reasoned. 

They walked in silence for some time, Sansa looking around as if it was her first visit to the Red Keep in order to avoid Julius‘s gaze. _I hope that I’ll be able to forget this terrible place,_ she thought, knowing very well that it would be impossible. 

It was barely past dawn but the throne room was already filled with people. For a short instant, Sansa feared that Joffrey was planning one last humiliation for her and was eager to share it with all those noblemen and women that she had come to hate but she quickly remembered that the departure of a highborn maiden, hostage or not, required the presence of the whole court. Although, what assurance did she truly have that the king didn’t want to chastise her one final time? 

“Sansa, my lady!” Joffrey hailed her as soon as he saw her. “Come closer, I want to _admire_ you before you leave,” he sarcastically said. 

Sansa reluctantly obeyed and knelt before him.

After eyeing her for a long moment with a disgusted expression, the king finally confessed, “I won’t miss you. In fact, I’m rather glad you’re going.” 

How was she supposed to answer such an insult? “I’m… so sad to hear this, my king,” she whispered nervously. _Why isn’t he just letting me go?_

Sandor Clegane was standing next to the throne, his dark shape towering over everyone that surrounded him. As always, he appeared unperturbed by Joffrey’s rudeness and only stared straight ahead, not looking at anything in particular and scowling at anyone daring to glance at him. From where she was kneeling, Sansa could see the left side of the Hound’s face and his burns were more terrible than ever under the merciless luminosity of the morning, the clear light emphasizing every gruesome detail of the scars. The imposing man was wearing his plain grey armour and holding his snarling dog helm under his arm but had not worn his white Kingsguard cloak, preferring a hooded one of dusky brown instead. 

The queen’s commanding voice suddenly cut through the heavy silence that had token over the hall. “I see you are ready to leave,” she established with a slight smile. In a graceful movement, the woman slowly put a lock of golden hair behind her ear while turning her gaze to the Hound. “Sandor Clegane, you asked for a squire and here he is,” she said while nodding in Julius’ direction. The young man instantly bowed before her. “Julius Lannister is a distant cousin of ours, a Lannister of Lannisport. He was visiting the capital but must now rejoin his family. Since it wouldn’t be safe for him to travel by himself all the way to the Westerlands, we thought that he might accompany you on your way.” Julius grinned at the queen and she added while gazing at him with emerald eyes, “I’m certain that he’ll make a fine squire.” 

The Hound grunted at that before rasping, “He’ll do,” but his eyes told a whole other story.

“Everything is settled then. You may go now, dog,” the king uttered with an air of boredom while suppressing a yawn. 

The Hound’s only response was to bow wordlessly before turning around and heading toward the door. Sansa immediately stood up and followed him. As she left that dreadful place that had witnessed so many unhappy and tragic moments throughout the past year, Sansa couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and fear. What if, at some point, she were to come back to King’s Landing for some unknown reason? She’d choose death over the chance of going through anything similar to the ordeal that she had experienced in that dreadful city. 

The stables weren’t too far from the throne room; only a long guarded corridor separated the two places but never had they seemed so distant from one another in the past. The gold cloaks posted along the rich and ornately decorated walls were studying their small group with open curiosity and Sansa was eager to be free from their stares. After a few minutes, the doors of the stables were finally in view and two guards opened them up for them.  The Hound turned around and waved at Sansa to follow him; she did and the man showed her the way to a loose box. 

“Your horse, girl,” the Hound rasped while pointing at the chestnut mare that Sansa had used on her rare outings since she had arrived in King’s Landing. She slowly approached the gentle beast to pet it; her luggage was already fixed to the saddle and a bedroll was hitched on the other side. _Is the Hound planning for us to sleep in the woods?_ she wondered uneasily.

Strong hands circling her waist from behind abruptly took her out of her worried musing. Her eyes widened and she stiffened under their touch as they lifted her from the ground and put her on the mare’s saddle. Sansa turned to gaze at the Hound’s broad back as he stalked toward his huge black stallion; she still could feel the warmth of his hands lingering on her middle. 

In one swift movement, Sandor Clegane jumped into the saddle while hoarsely barking in Julius’s direction, “Hurry, boy! It’s already bloody late!” 

The young man uttered a shocked sound before replying, “Don’t speak to me like that! I’m a Lannister of Lannisport, I’m not your _boy_.”

The Hound snorted at that. “I know damn well you’re not _my_ boy, but you’re a boy nonetheless. Now come, both of you.” With no further delay, he kicked his stallion with his heels and the fierce beast hurried out of the stables. 

Sansa was quick to follow his lead while Julius hurriedly straddled his elegant white horse; the animal was of good quality and it took him no time to catch up with the rest of the party. 

Both the gates of the Red Keep and of the city were passed with no trouble whatsoever and the group was on the Goldroad before midday. The sky was cloudy but the sun was present from time to time. _It wouldn’t be so bad if the weather stayed this way for the rest of our travel,_ Sansa reflected, although she knew very well that there was little chance of that given that autumn had recently begun. Rain would inevitably come.

*** 

They were travelling side by side, Sansa between the two men. _Do they truly believe that I would flee by myself in these unknown parts?_ Not a word had been said by any of them for hours; Julius still appeared to be put off by the Hound’s harsh attitude and the man himself had not even spared a glance at him or Sansa since they had left the stables. The silence was becoming extremely uncomfortable for Sansa and she felt an urge to start some sort of conversation. It was what ladies were for after all: to lead discussions and make people feel at ease, she tried to convince herself as she opened her mouth to speak.  

Jerking her head to gaze at the Hound, she politely asked, “How long are we going to ride today, my lord?” 

“Till twilight,” he growled without even looking at her.

 _Not very talkative without his wine,_ Sansa reflected, desperate to find a subject that could interest him. Since some details of their travel were still bothering her, Sansa decided to voice her worries. It would be as good a place to start as any. “We all carry bedrolls. Are we… going to sleep under the stars or-”

“Afraid to sleep outside, are you? I’d reckon you would be.” The Hound turned his hard grey stare on her while laughing hoarsely before adding, “If we come across an inn, we’ll take chambers there, but you can be bloody certain that those bedrolls will be used sooner or later. 

The idea of spending a night in the gloomy forest that surrounded her was far from appealing to Sansa. Wild animals and disgusting insects would crawl around her during her sleep and their noises would inevitably wake her in the black of night. She had never liked spending time in the Wolfswood after sunset, when darkness made it impossible to discern anything beyond arm’s length. With a sigh, Sansa’s thoughts went to Arya, her long lost sister. _Arya would be thrilled at the prospect,_ Sansa mused, but both siblings had always been so different from one another. _I must be imbued by some of her boldness if I want to survive this journey without suffering too much. I am a wolf as well after all; wolves don’t mind sleeping in the wild._

As Sansa was trying to gather her courage, Julius Lannister turned a scornful look on her before snapping, “By what right do you complain? As long as the _exchange_ has not taken place, you’re still a hostage, and you’ve no more rights than any other prisoner.”

His retort had been so brutal that for a brief instant, Sansa felt as if she had been thrown back into the throne room to stand before Joffrey. She lowered her gaze to her pommel and bit her lip while holding back the tears of rage that were quickly forming in her eyes but the rasping voice of the Hound took her out of her building doldrums. 

“She has as much right to talk as you do, boy, which means none. Both of you keep quiet! I’m in no mood to hear your fucking childish squabbles,” he growled with annoyance. 

From the corner of her eye, Sansa could see that Julius was turning red and frowning like a madman. He led his horse in front the Hound’s to halt him and yelled, “I told you before, you dog: don’t call me _boy_! I’m not going to tolerate that kind of treatment from the likes of you.”

Sandor Clegane stopped his dark stallion and for a long and uncomfortable moment, the man stared at Julius with cold eyes, the burned corner of his mouth twitching threateningly. After what appeared to be an eternity, the Hound finally snarled, “You think you’re doing me a favour coming with us, _boy_? I asked for a squire; I thought they’d give me some unknown but hardworking lad. Now I’m stuck with a buggering _green boy_ who has never seen anything but castles and noblemen.” He spat to express his disgust and brought his horse closer to Julius before adding, “Until you’ve proven yourself useful, you’ll be a fucking _boy_ to me.”

Obviously less assured of himself, Julius nonetheless retorted, “But I am a Lannister-”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about what you are. Think that pretty _crimson_ cloak of yours will help us when we’re further down the road? We’ll only get trouble for it; you should’ve chosen a plain one as the girl did.”

 “Award her no merit for that. Grey is her House’s colour!”

The Hound snorted. “Seems like the Starks could teach the Lannisters a few things after all.” With that, he passed by the fuming young man and continued on his way. Sansa immediately followed him, eager to flee from the wrath that was oozing from Julius. _Who would have predicted that I would one day rush to Sandor Clegane to avoid someone else’s rage?_ she mused as she glanced back at the blond young man behind her.

*** 

The light was getting dimmer by the minute and Sansa was beginning to be apprehensive that they would have to sleep in the open when an inn finally came into view. Without a word, the Hound rode in its direction, both Sansa and Julius following in his path. They were greeted by a dirty and skinny stable boy who directed them to the entry of the place while wordlessly taking the reins of the horses.

The common room was full but the innkeeper nevertheless assured the Hound that there were still enough rooms left for them.

“Want a bath, little bird? Can’t be certain of when we’ll come across an inn again,” the Hound rasped flatly, while paying the old man behind the counter.

Only one day on the road had dirtied her as she would have never imagined possible; Sansa couldn’t even guess how covered with filth she would end up after weeks of travelling. “Yes, of course. Thank you, my lord,” she said politely while lowering her gaze to her stained hands. 

“A bath to the girl’s room,” the Hound ordered while tossing an extra coin at the innkeeper. 

Her eyelids were getting heavier by the second. Sansa could hardly keep them open as she followed Sandor Clegane to her chamber. 

When they were in front of the door, the Hound grabbed her jaw and lifted her head to make sure that she would look at him before saying, “Listen, girl. You lock your door. I’ll stay outside and wait for your bath to arrive. Don’t open to _anyone_ but me, understood?” 

“Yes, my lord,” she murmured almost inaudibly.

He let go of her and opened the door; Sansa hurried inside. _One day gone! One day less until the end of my ordeal!_ she repeated to herself, tired as never before in her life as she sat on her straw bed.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Sandor**

 They had been riding from dawn until twilight for the past four days, only stopping to eat dry meat and hard cheese around midday and to take a piss once in a while. The weather hadn’t been as bad as Sandor had predicted it would; rain did come from time to time but never long enough to soak their cloaks and since they had been lucky enough to come across inhabited villages every day until then, they had always slept in inns, giving time for their wet clothes to dry by the hearth during the night. Things would change today though. There was apparently not a living soul in the woods that surrounded them and twilight was approaching dangerously fast; the wisest thing to do would be to set up camp while there was still enough light to see.

 In an instinctive movement, Sandor turned to glance discreetly at the little bird though he couldn’t really see her with the hood of her cloak covering her hair and face almost completely _. Better this way; if I can’t see her, no one else can. The girl is far too recognisable._ Throughout the past few days, Sandor had kept reminding her over and over again to keep her damned hood up _at all times._ These weren’t really complicated instructions, but apparently the girl didn’t appreciate the way that the piece of cloth acted like blinkers forbidding her from admiring the landscape. _What you see can see you too, little bird._ Neither the Lannisters nor the Starks were supposed to have spread the word of this exchange, but a blue-eyed, red-haired maiden was sure to attract unwanted attention and raise suspicion, especially if anyone took a good look at her escort. Sandor was hard to miss and with his scars, even the poxy peasants that vainly tried to plough the dry lands that they were to cross would recognise him, especially in the Westerlands where his House was well known and not always for good reasons. The old hooded cloak that he had brought along did help to conceal his identity from afar but Sandor had no illusions; their group was a suspicious one, especially with that bloody half-witted lad that the Lannisters had thought to afflict him with. No matter if they were from Casterly Rock or Lannisport, those damned cocky Lannisters seemed more reckless than anyone else. Over the years, their power and wealth had won them more foes than friends, but those bastards were mostly blind to that fact. _More chance of teaching courtesies to an ass than discretion to a Lannister,_ Sandor mused while glaring at the boy beside him; the lad was garbed as elegantly as if he meant to parade about in King’s Landing after a glorious battle. Sandor snorted at his own thoughts before stopping Stranger. Both youngsters did the same with their horses and turned questioning gazes on him.

 “We’ll sleep outside tonight. I hear a creek on our left, I’m sure we’ll find a clearing somewhere along it,” he announced while eying their reactions with a hint of amusement. The lad’s eyes were as wide as the little bird’s. _The boy is no braver than the girl,_ Sandor mused contemptuously. “Come, both of you,” he ordered while nodding at them to follow before heading toward the edge of the forest.

 From behind him, Sandor could hear the sound of hoofs on the soft ground. A moment later, the grey shape of the little bird appeared in the corner of his eye. _On my heels again, just like the last few days._ In King’s Landing, the girl had always avoided Sandor as if he carried the plague, but now that they were stuck on the road together with that bloody Lannister lad, the little bird suddenly _sought_ his company. _Better a dog than a cub, I reckon,_ Sandor concluded. It wasn’t as if she truly enjoyed his presence; not many words had been uttered by that pretty mouth of hers since they had left the capital apart from her usual buggering courtesies, and her blue eyes were almost always lowered to stare at her hands when she addressed him. The girl was still dead scared of him, that was a given _. I hope she realises the luck she has that I volunteered for this mission,_ he mused with annoyance while spitting on the ground beside him. _Could’ve been Boros or Meryn with her instead, who knows? I didn’t give the bastards a chance though and gave my name right away. I saved her once, twice even, and now I’ll deliver her safely to her family. Isn’t that ‘gallant’ enough for you, little bird?_ His mouth twitched and he snorted at his own wry thoughts while looking around him. They had reached a clearing that seemed good enough to spend the night and so Sandor turned his horse around and gazed at his charges. They were both standing still and staring wordlessly at him.

 “We’ll sleep here. Get off your horses,” he rasped in their direction as he jumped from Stranger’s back. With some hesitation, the little bird tried to slide from her mare’s saddle but with limited success. The girl would’ve landed on her knees on her way down if not for Sandor, who grabbed her by the shoulders just in time. _So graceful and skilled at court but so clumsy in the real world,_ Sandor reflected while hoarsely laughing. The girl’s face was flushed as she timidly thanked him for his help but it was obvious that she truly was eager to be free of his grip. The burned corner of Sandor’s mouth twitched at her evident unease and he abruptly let her go before returning his attention to his stallion, scowling as he removed the saddle from the animal’s back. Following his lead, the Lannister boy did the same, freeing his own horse from his heavy luggage. 

 “Once you have taken care of the girl’s mare, bring the beasts to the creek and make sure they drink their fill,” Sandor grunted flatly at the lad without even sparing him a glance.

 The boy silently did as he was bid but his discontent at being ordered around by a _dog_ was evident. With a smirk, Sandor tossed Stranger’s reins at him. The lad carefully grabbed them; the horse had almost bitten off his face on their second day on the road and the cub was now frightened of the dark beast, although he tried his best not to show it. The creek was not too far but a thick line of trees separated the clearing from the water and so Sandor was soon alone with the little bird, who was gazing at her hands as usual, her pretty face hidden under her woollen hood. 

 “Help me gather some dead wood, will you?” he rasped at her.

 The girl nodded and followed him into the woods.

 “Make sure the branches you choose are dry and fill your skirt with them,” Sandor instructed her. She nodded again and squatted to search the wet ground with her delicate white hands.

 The light was getting dimmer by the minute and the little bird was on his heels once again, always staying a few feet from Sandor as if he was a _bloody_ torch that lit up the forest around him.

 After some time, he stood up with arms full of branches and lowered his gaze to her. “Afraid of the dark, are you?” Sandor asked with a smirk on his lips.

 The girl’s face was shadowed by her hood but her eyes shone in the gloom as she raised them to him. “No, not really. It’s just that I’m… not used in spending time in the woods at night, that’s all.”

 “You’ve never been on the road in these conditions, have you? Wasn’t like that when you came from Winterfell to King’s Landing with that horde of buggering noblemen and retainers that followed us. No big tents and real bed to sleep in this time around. I know you would’ve liked it better that way again, but travelling heavy takes time and that’s not how I do things. Don’t you worry though, little bird, soon you’ll be with your family and free to forget all about it all.”

 The girl silently stared at him for a moment. “I was not complaining, my lord,” she finally uttered.

 “I know what you think, girl. Don’t lie to me,” Sandor snapped, while taking a step toward her.

 Obviously taken aback by his rough words, the little bird shrank away from him and lowered her eyes to the ground. “I… I’ll be alright, my lord,” she whispered after a few seconds.

 “I know you will. I’ll make sure of that,” Sandor answered, this time less harshly.

 Apparently reassured by the change in his tone, the girl hesitantly glanced at him for a short instant before asking, “Why didn’t you tell me you were to be my escort?”

 “What do you mean?” he grunted, eyeing her.

 “When we met in the alcove…” the girl shyly muttered.

 Sandor snorted at her question and a smirk formed on his lips. “Why, you think the king would’ve been pleased if you didn’t react as you did when you learned the _good_ _news_?” He barked a rough laugh before adding, “You knew already too much. I was not about to spoil you even more; at least you’d be surprised by that part of the _announcement_.”

 “Oh… I didn’t think about that,” the little bird said with a look of understanding on her lovely face. “Thank you for that, my lord.”

 Sandor grunted at hearing her usual courtesies, his smirk instantly fading away. “Come, we have enough wood to start a fire and the boy must be back by now,” he rasped while lightly pushing the girl toward the camp.

 He was right; after a few minutes they got back to the site and the lad was waiting for them, sitting on a log. Losing no time, Sandor immediately started to work on a fire. The little bird stayed by his side, absently watching his every move.

 “If you don’t know what to do with yourself, why don’t you set out our bedrolls? You can do that, can’t you?” he flatly asked her.

 She nodded and went straight to where the saddles were settled under a tree, carefully unfastening her bedroll from its strap.

 “We’ll sleep side by side with you in the middle, girl. Safer that way if anyone comes around.” Sandor jerked his head toward the lad and added, “You’ll keep your hands off her, boy. Understood? Or else I’ll chop your cock off and believe me, I’m not jesting.”

 The cub nodded while glaring at Sandor. He would listen and that was all that mattered. Once he was done with the fire, Sandor sat back on a log and stared at the flames, lost in his thoughts. With lowered eyes, the Lannister lad suddenly approached him and went to unfasten his armour as he had done every night.

 “What are you doing, boy?” Sandor snapped while recoiling from him.

 “Helping you with your armour, ser,” the lad answered, obviously puzzled.

 “I’m keeping it on. Who knows what kind of bastards hide in these woods? A man has to be ready for battle at all times when out in the open like this,” Sandor sternly explained before adding in a snarl, “and don’t call me ‘ser’. I’ve told you before, boy, I’m not one of them.”

 His pride manifestly wounded, the boy retorted, “What am I supposed to call you then? I’m not about to call you _my lord_ as our prisoner does.”

 Sandor’s scowl deepened. “The girl is no prisoner of yours. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the same as her: a weight on my shoulders, a helpless child that needs help getting back to his family. I’m no wet nurse though, so stop whining and keep your _fucking_ mouth shut.”

 The boy glowered at Sandor before taking off, going as far as he could from him without leaving the clearing. _Good_.

 ****

 The group ate their meal of dry meat and rock-hard bread in an awkward silence, the boy on the other side of the fire and the little bird sitting at arm’s length from Sandor. The lad was just a cub, but he somehow frightened the girl. _His foul mood is what repels her from him and drives her to me,_ he concluded, snorting at his own thoughts. _No reason for me to treat him any better then._

 The moon had risen and its gleam was illuminating the little bird’s perfect profile. Sandor could not help but stare at her and admire her beauty, taking in every detail of that pure face of hers. The girl was tense, palpably uncomfortable with the way that he was shamelessly studying her. _Does she sense that I want her?_ Sandor wondered. _No_. _She’s probably too naïve for that and only believes me to be a creepy dog._ _Better this way, or else she’d be even more scared of me._

 “Go to sleep now, both of you,” he growled before taking a long swig from his wineskin. 

 From his log, Sandor watched as his charges got onto their bedrolls, the little bird tiredly pulling her blankets over her lithe body. Her long braid had escaped from her cloak and its copper hue was shining in the darkness. Sandor looked at it for an instant before abruptly standing up and stamping out the fire.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Sansa**

The rain had begun shortly after their morning departure and there had not been one respite in the foul weather since then. Dusk was swiftly shrouding the sky, covering the forest with its shadowy cloak as the barely-visible shape of the sun disappeared behind the distant mountains before them. A bitter wind rose as if to greet the nightfall, bringing Sansa's exhaustion and discomfort to a whole new height. The draught penetrated her soaked and heavy clothes while cold droplets trailed down her frozen face; she shivered, shutting her eyes in a silent payer to the gods for a warm and dry shelter. The Hound, who knew the area, had assured her and Julius that an inn was nearby and Sansa could only hope that he was right.  _Is autumn always going to be so wet and chilly?_  she wondered with dread. A summer child born in spring, Sansa had entered the winter with curiosity but her initial inquiring feelings were now pervaded with the anxiety of what was to come.

"Look," the Hound suddenly rasped, steam coming from his mouth, while raising a steel-gloved hand to point a finger at what lay ahead.

Immediately, Sansa lifted her gaze and searched the horizon, squinting her eyes in an attempt to protect them from the heavy rain. She sighed in relief when she finally saw what she had prayed for only moments ago: barely visible, the top of a high chimney was coming out from behind the edge of the forest, a thick column of smoke filling the sky above it. With a whole new energy, the group hurried their mounts toward that tempting promise of warmth, quickly arriving in front of an old but neat-looking inn. A stable boy, alarmed by the noise of their horses, briskly approached them and took charge of the beasts.

The inn was such an appealing sight after her ordeal that Sansa wanted nothing more than to rush toward its door but a strong hand grasped her by the shoulder and stopped her on her way. The young girl turned her head around to see the dark shape of the Hound looming above her as his steely fingers picked up the long braid that was hanging out of her hood.

"Hide it," he told her while pulling lightly at it.

Taking the plait from the Hound, Sansa felt herself blush under his insistent stare as she hastily tucked it into her cloak.

"Are we going inside?" Julius exclaimed, while glaring at them before pushing the door open and entering the inn.

The common room was dim but warm and strangely crowded given the emptiness of the surroundings. Dirty-looking men were playing dice while drinking ale and some of them turned curious eyes on Sansa and her escort when they heard the sound of the opening door.

Without sparing them a glance, the Hound went straight to the old man who appeared to be the innkeeper and laid a heavy hand on the counter before him. "Still have places?" he asked.

The old man eyed him for a moment; from that close, he was certainly able to make out Sandor Clegane's scarred features from under his hood. "We do," the innkeeper finally answered. "How many rooms will you require?"

"Two. We'll need warm meals also, but bring some hot water to each room first; the  _children_  are going to bathe," the Hound rasped, while turning mocking eyes on his charges, obviously waiting for a reaction on Julius' part. He wasn't disappointed; the young man was fuming with evident rage but nonetheless stayed silent.

Once in her room, Sansa took off her cloak. It was so soaked that she had to wring it out over the chamber pot a couple of times before she could hang it in front of the fireplace. Her dress wasn't in a much better state. Even her shift and underclothes weren't completely dry but she nevertheless decided to stay in them until the hot water arrived.

"Your bath, girl," she heard Sandor Clegane's rough voice announce from the corridor.

Hurriedly, she grasped her cloak and reluctantly covered herself with it again before opening the lock. Two boys carrying a big and heavy cauldron entered and filled the bathtub with its steaming contents. Another boy followed with a bucket of cold water in each hand and added them to the mix. The boys all went out of the room without a word and Sansa was about to close the door behind them when the Hound's hand stopped it from closing, leaving it ajar.

Droplets of water were still running down his face, cloak and armour. "I'll come to pick you up for the meal once we're all dried up and clean. Until then, bolt your door, as always," he instructed her.

"I will, my lord," Sansa answered politely.

He only grunted and went away.

****

The bath was a real blessing from the heavens and Sansa felt like a new maiden when she came out of its warm water and slid into a dry gown. Sitting on the straw bed, she was finishing brushing her long hair when someone knocked on the door.

"Little bird?" Sansa heard the Hound rasp from behind it.

 _Finally_ , she thought hungrily while jumping from the bed and heading for the door to open its lock. Once it was done, the Hound abruptly entered and fixed his attention upon her. He too had changed garments: he now wore dark leather breeches and a studded leather jerkin with a large hooded tunic above it. The hood of the tunic was deep and concealed Sandor Clegane's upper face almost perfectly but only a blind man wouldn't notice his burned jaw and that terrible bone that Sansa had once been so appalled by. His long black hair was still wet and lank locks of it were coming out of his hood, dripping on the roughspun fabric of his tunic. After an instant of staring, the Hound closed the door behind him. Sansa sighed; it wasn't fitting for a maiden to be alone in a room with a man that wasn't kin of hers, but she knew that if she voiced her unease, Sandor Clegane would probably only laugh at her.  _The Hound doesn't care about those kinds of precepts._   _Maybe I shouldn't either, nothing improper will happen and I know it, but it's hard to change from what you have been bred to be._

"The place is packed," he said after a few seconds, "might be better if you stayed in here. I'll bring you some food-"

Sansa bit her lip in disappointment; despite all the prejudice that she once had, she had liked the atmosphere of the common rooms in which they had eaten during the past few days. Although the Hound could be grumpy company, she preferred the prospect of being at his side downstairs than the one of spending the evening in her room by herself with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling. "No, please! I want to come with you!" she exclaimed without thinking, only realising afterward how unladylike she had sounded.

The Hound laughed at her reaction. "Fine then. At your command,  _Lady Stark,_  but braid those locks and put a scarf on. Go on! No time to lose, I'm thirsty!"

Leaning on the stone wall, he watched as Sansa headed for the mirror and did as she was bid. A deep blush was creeping over her pale skin as she tied a ribbon around her long plait, trying all she could not to glance at the reflection of the Hound as the man brazenly studied her from where he stood. When she was done, having covered her hair with a large dark scarf, they both went out of the room and headed down the stairs.

Once in the common room, the Hound led Sansa to the most remote table he could find and sat her on a bench between the wall and himself.

"Where's the damned boy?" he rasped while impatiently looking around the room.

Sansa raised her gaze and instantly saw him. "There," she said, as she nodded toward him.

On the other side of the room, Julius was sitting with a group of men, a tankard of ale in his hand. Draped in his usual crimson clothes, he was laughing and appeared relaxed as he exchanged words with his neighbours. The Hound frowned when he saw him and was about to stand when Sansa touched his arm to stop him.

"No, leave him, please," she boldly pleaded. Sandor Clegane stopped and laid prying eyes on her. Suddenly cowed by his intense stare, Sansa lowered her gaze before shyly explaining herself. "Maybe if he enjoys himself tonight, he'll be in a better mood tomorrow."

Relaxing, the Hound smirked and asked, "Why would you care about that, little bird? The boy doesn't give a rat's arse about your frame of mind, so why should you worry about his?"

She explained herself in a soft whisper. "Maybe if he's in a better mood, he won't pick on me so much…he looks at me with so much hate sometimes, it makes me uneasy."

"You can't be loved by everyone, girl. Best you learn to live with that," he muttered gravely while leaning further back on the bench and stretching his long legs under the table before snapping his finger to draw the attention of a serving woman. "A jug of wine for myself and cider for the girl. And bring us our meals, wench," he barked in her direction.

The woman nodded and went on her way. Discreetly, Sansa glanced at the Hound and saw that he had apparently forgotten about Julius. She allowed herself a slight smile: although he would never admit it, Sandor Clegane had given way to her. It was good to finally see her wishes considered by someone after a year of feeling like a ghost in the capital. The Hound was a strange beast but he wasn't as feral as some people would have others believe, starting with himself.

Taking her out of her musings, the serving woman returned with their drinks and settled them on the table, leaving room for the boy who had followed her to put down two bowls of steaming stew. Sansa was starving and therefore she lost no time in inhaling a spoonful of stew while the Hound poured himself a full glass of wine. He emptied its contents in one deep gulp before following her lead, finishing his stew well before she did.

Licking his spoon, the Hound grunted while glaring at Julius, "Look at him! All puffed up and proud. The perfect Lannister, I'd say." He snorted at his own comment.

Sansa raised her gaze from her almost-empty bowl to glance at Julius. He did look puffed up and proud and so she grinned at the Hound's remark.

Suddenly serious, Sandor Clegane turned his grey eyes on hers. "Might be a good idea to drag him back to his room before he drinks too much and spills all of our  _little secrets_  to those thugs he's with." He tossed his spoon on the table and stood up. "Come."

With a mouth still full with her last spoonful of stew, Sansa nodded and followed him.

His back to the room, Julius was comfortably leaning back in his chair and had no clue that the Hound was coming for him.  _This is not going to be pretty,_  Sansa predicted as she took a few steps back toward the stairs.

"Time to sleep, boy. Come," the Hound rasped, while seizing Julius by the upper arm.

The young man turned around, an offended expression deforming his face as he squirmed to free himself from the bigger man's grip. "Get away! I don't need you to watch over me! I'll go to sleep when I feel tired."

"Who says that?" the Hound grunted, unimpressed.

"Me!" Julius answered before sighing in exasperation. "In fact, you won't even need to  _worry_  about me anymore; I'll be travelling with my friends here from now on," the young man announced while nodding toward his new companions.

A small but brawny man with a brown beard that sat at the other side of the table from Julius acquiesced. "We folks are heading toward Lannisport; we'll share the road with the young man," he said calmly.

Pausing to gauge the unknown man, the Hound appeared to consider his offer for a short instant, but then rolled his eyes in resignation and told Julius, "No matter how much I'd like to be  _bloody_  rid of you, I can't leave you in the hands of those thugs. Now  _you_  come, boy." In a quick movement, Sandor Clegane reached for Julius' arm but the latter recoiled from him just in time.

"Leave me be, Hound! I don't want anything to do with you anymore!" the young man yelled, moving backward.

A hush suddenly fell on the group of men as they exchanged looks with each another.

The bearded man was the first to break the silence. "So my suspicions were right: you  _are_  the Hound. What brings you so far from your den?" he asked, his gaze moving from the Hound to where Sansa was standing, closer to the stairs, "-and who's this one? Another  _little_  Lannister?" The man advanced, his grin showing off crooked yellowish teeth.

 _I'm not a Lannister! I hate them!_ Sansa thought furiously, her hands clenched in tight fists as she felt the stares of the men creeping over her in the most unpleasant manner.

"It's none of your bloody business who the girl is," the Hound spat at the man, before turning around and grabbing Julius' arm. "No fucking  _grumbling_ this time!" he ordered, while dragging the red-faced young man along.

As the Hound was nearing the stairs, a dirty blond-haired man stood up to rejoin Sansa before him. "Who could you be, lass?" he said in a soft voice, while gazing at her a bit too intensely. "A real beauty to be sure," he added as she wordlessly flinched away from him.

Intervening between them, the Hound snarled at the man while shoving him with his free hand. "Unless you seek trouble, I advise you to keep your distance from the girl, you hear me?"

"Calm down, I was only talking to her! There's no reason for you to react like this, I'm only curious to know who she is. We don't see pretty maidens such as her often in these surroundings, as you probably can imagine," the man explained, while scowling at the Hound.

"Keep wondering then," the Hound growled while pushing Sansa up the stairs with one hand and dragging Julius with the other.

Once upstairs, the Hound opened the door of his and Julius' shared room and violently thrust the young man inside of it. "You'll stay in there for the rest of the night, you buggering halfwit! You might have gotten us in trouble with that fucking big mouth of yours," he snarled, his voice as rough as steel on stone. Shutting the door, the big man turned his attention on Sansa. "The stupid lad!" he said, more calmly. "The boy has attracted a  _bit_  too much attention to us." The Hound paused and studied Sansa for a moment. "I didn't like how those bastards looked at you," he grumbled, almost to himself while eyeing her, an angry gleam shining in his dark eyes. "I'll sleep in the passageway, in front of your door. We'll see if the  _boors_  try anything then."

Sansa's eyes widened.  _In front of my door?_  she thought, before realising that since they had already slept side by side just a few nights before while in the woods, there was really no reason for her to be shocked by something so innocent.

"Bolt your door; I'm going downstairs to see if anyone has stolen my jug of wine. I shouldn't take long," he rasped while opening the door of Sansa's room for her.

 _Has Julius indeed got us into trouble?_ Sansa wondered, while taking off her scarf and gown. His  _companions_  had undeniably appeared to be interested by her but who knew if they weren't only curious, as they had claimed to be?  _Mayhap the Hound is a little too leery after all,_  she concluded while laying her tired body on the straw bed.

As she closed her eyes, Sansa heard the sound of someone crouching against her door.  _The Hound,_ she deducted as she heard him grunt and yawn while he noisily leaned against the old wooden door, which complained in strident creaks. Her eyes now wide open, Sansa turned around in her bed to look in the direction of the noises; Sandor Clegane's large shape was blocking most of the light from passing through the slight crack under the door. After a few seconds, Sansa heard a liquid sound and then a long and thirsty gulp.

"It was still there?" she asked just loudly enough for him to hear.

"Uh?" the Hound grunted, apparently puzzled.

"Your wine!" she continued, a smile on her lips.

Barking a rough laugh, the man answered, "Aye, and I took your cider too; no waste."

Sansa giggled softly at that. "Good night."

"'Night."

****

On that particular morning, the Goldroad was deserted but beautiful. Thankfully unlike the day before, the sun was finally showing itself and the yellowish earth of the lane was sparking under the bright light, giving it a pretty golden hue. Julius' hair was also shining like beaten gold under the sunbeam but nothing else gleamed about the young man on that day. His mood was as foul as ever and his skin was pale and sickly like that of a dying man.

"Wine is not for everyone," Sandor Clegane had whispered to Sansa while they were at the stables, a few hours before. "See how green the boy is?" he had added with a wicked grin, his voice a low and hoarse rasp as he effortlessly lifted her into her saddle.

Julius did look greenish, there was no denying it. The Hound, who had probably drunk three times as much and slept against a wooden door, looked dashing in comparison to the young man. Although, Sansa was conscious that not many men could compare to Sandor Clegane where wine and endurance were implied. Julius simply wasn't of the same calibre. Throughout the preceding week, the Hound's constant presence by her side had confirmed Sansa's previous suspicions: the man was seemingly indefatigable. Nothing seemed to bother him when it came to travelling. It didn't matter if it rained, blew a gale or if the sun was burning hot; Sandor Clegane had never yet lost even a hint of his strength and speed. As much as Sansa had initially been reluctant to be escorted by  _Joffrey's dog_ , she had to admit now that she was beginning to get accustomed to his rude manners, that they weren't many men with whom she would feel as secure in a precarious situation such as theirs. Very rare were those who could claim not to be intimidated by the Hound, especially at first sight. Most people that they had come acrosswereapprehensive, even frightened to approach such an imposing figure.  _Just as I was… and still am to some extent,_ she admitted to herself.  _I should be thankful for his fearsome appearance and rough ways; as much as I used to dread him for those reasons, it's also because of them that we have been left alone until now. My current relative safety is due to everything that I once hated about him._

As Sansa was silently assimilating these new realisations, the Hound abruptly halted his mount and raised a hand to urge her and Julius to do the same. Intrigued, she raised her gaze and saw what had drawn the Hound's attention. Approximately twenty feet from them, a slight opening in the forest led to a small and dilapidated house. Standing still, Sandor Clegane stared at the setting from afar for a long moment.

Breaking the silence, Julius grumbled, "What are we waiting for? This is just an old house. We have seen hundreds before."

"Not just any house, you damned fool. This one has been attacked. See how it's been broken down, even partly burned? Might be that war has travelled south and reached our path... or that there are bandits in the area. Anyhow, we'd best go check it out and see if we can learn anything," the Hound flatly explained, while kicking his stallion with his heels and slowly approaching the abandoned house. "Come."

Both Julius and Sansa did as they were bid, a palpable dread building between them as they began to grasp the scene in its entirety.  _Oh, this is horrible,_ Sansa thought, her eyes widening in shock. Everywhere she looked, the ground was covered with small pieces of rotten or burned wood mixed with broken household items in an ugly mess that carried a sickening memory of violence. Sansa felt her stomach clench painfully as she turned her tearful eyes on the remnants of the house and gazed at its high skeleton, rising eerily toward the sky like a cold, dark spectre, standing alone in the woods.  _People lived here, but every detail of their lives has been destroyed with no consideration. No trace has been left of whatever happiness they might once have had._  Tears went rolling down her cheeks as Sansa's thoughts wandered to her own distant and broken home. _Has the same horrible fate befallen Winterfell?_  War was an ugly thing, Sansa realised not for the first time as she began to sob in silence.

A gruff voice that came from the other side of the house took her out of her sad introspection. "You see that?" The Hound had left his mount at the edge of the forest to explore the site on foot and he was pointing at a heap of faded embers and ashes over which the remainder of smoke floated lazily. "People have been here recently," he rasped. "Let's get away from here."

As Sansa was about to nod her agreement, a muffled but undeniable cry for help resounded further into the forest. Gasping, the young girl turned wide eyes on the Hound who was staring in the sound's direction, his mouth twitching.

After a moment, he strode toward his stallion while glancing at Sansa and Julius in turn. "You heard me? We're going!" the Hound hurried them with annoyance.

Julius was getting ready to go but Sansa herself just couldn't move; her body was frozen in place. "We can't!" she almost immediately exclaimed. "We need to do something!"

The Hound snorted while raising his gaze on her. "You mean  _I_ need to do something, don't you? Tell me, little bird, why should I risk my life for some unknown bugger? He's not the only one suffering in this bloody war, you can be certain about that, and I can't save everyone."

Swallowing, Sansa nevertheless boldly kept her eyes on the Hound's. "You can save this one though," she retorted.

The big man stared at her for a long moment of silence, his expression more unreadable than ever, before a smirk appeared on his lips. "Aye, I can," he admitted with a harsh and short laugh, while patting his mount's side. "I'll go without Stranger. Less likely that I get caught by some bastards while I scout the forest this way. Meanwhile, you both stay quietly here with him, you hear me?" Julius nodded stiffly while the Hound approached Sansa and raised his eyes to her once again. "I warn you though; I might do nothing if I judge it foolish to do otherwise."

Sighing with relief, Sansa nodded while biting her lip. His usual scowl returning on his face, the Hound unsheathed his long sword and turned around before disappearing into the thick woods.  _Father, Bran, Rickon... they're all dead now, but the war won't consume everyone, some people can still be saved._

"You're stupid. We're losing time because of you. I really don't understand why the Hound cares to please you so much..." Julius spat while glaring at Sansa before heading his horse toward the road.

"Where are you going?We're supposed to wait here until the Hound comes back!"

"I don't care. I'm not staying in this  _stinking_  place any moment longer," the young man said, his voice filled with contempt.

Dumbstruck, Sansa followed Julius with her eyes as he moved away from her.  _I can't let him leave like this,_ she decided, kicking her mare to catch up with him. "Wait! You can't go!"

The young man had turned on the lane and was already out of her sight, concealed by the trees that separated the abandoned house from the Goldroad. Panting, Sansa brought her mount to a trot to close the gap between them, which she did in a matter of seconds.

As she passed the edge of the woods and turned onto the road, Sansa cried out, "Julius! You can't-" but her voice was unexpectedly caught in her throat by the spectacle that was waiting for her.

A group of men was surrounding Julius and one of them had a sword pressed under the young man's jaw. As they heard her arrive, they all turned their heads to gaze at her.

"We were hoping that you would join us, lass. Come," a bearded man told Sansa before heading his mount toward her.

 _I remember this man. It's one of Julius' companions from last night…_  Looking anxiously around her, Sansa realised that she recognised each man from the previous evening.  _What do they want from us?_

"No one wants to hurt you, lass, but for that, stay quiet and do as we ask. Don't scream or try to run from us or else, we'll kill the boy. Understand?" he said as he approached her.

Sansa jerked her head around to see if the Hound was coming back.  _Where is he?!_ she wondered while nervously moving back from her attacker.

"I'm serious, lass! Do you want your friend's life on you conscience?!" the man said in a louder, more menacing tone.

 _He's not my friend! I hate him!_  Sansa though angrily, but still, she couldn't let those men murder Julius, she didn't want to be the cause of anyone's death, and so she froze in place, petrified by the horror of what was happening.

"You're a good girl," the man said almost softly while snatching her reins from her hands. "Now remember, not a sound or we kill the boy," he added as he hurried both horses along the road, quickly followed by the rest of his group.

Julius had been tied up on his saddle and the man with the sword was riding by his side, keeping an eye on his captive. Sansa gazed at the once so-cocky young man: he was trembling and his face was wet with tears. She felt her own tears starting to roll down her cheeks as she glanced behind her and saw nothing but the golden hue of the road as it shone in the afternoon sun.


	5. Chapter 5

 

**Sansa**

For about half an hour, the thugs had led Sansa and Julius at the fastest pace that they could manage deep into the forest, without exchanging so much as a word with their captives and only a few with one another. During one of those sparse dialogues, Sansa had nonetheless overheard one of the bandits calling the bearded man Robert.  _Like the old king,_ she had observed, although apart from the name and the dark beard, the man didn't share much with Joffrey's late father, with his small build and tattered clothes. Yet, Robert was no exception among his group: his companions' demeanours and garments stank of poverty and even the old beasts that carried them had obviously known better days, but what else could be expected from poor wanderers like them?

"What do you want from us?" Sansa suddenly asked as the urge of at least knowing her fate – whatever it might be – was becoming unbearable.

Turning his gaze on her, Robert slowed his mount. "Calm down, lass. As we told you, no one will hurt you. Only, we have need of the gold we can get if we ransom the both of you."

"Ransom? But who will you ransom us to?" Sansa worriedly asked as dread that she would be brought back to the Lannisters overtook her.

Grinning, the man replied, "Well, although the Lannisters of Lannisport aren't as rich as their cousins of Casterly Rock, they're still richer than the likes of us and we'll find good use for their gold. As for you, lass, I'm sure that the sister of the Young Wolf must be worth her weight in gold-"

Gasping immediately as she heard Robert's assumptions, Sansa turned wide eyes on him. "How... how do you know?"

The man laughed at her reaction before explaining himself with blatant amusement. "We suspected it from the beginning. Tell me, why would King Joffrey send his favourite guard to wander the Westerlands only to deliver a lesser cousin home? Since the boy is clearly not worth the trouble, we figured that you were the one that the Hound truly looked after. Deducing the rest afterward wasn't too hard: the young king has a new betrothed - thus he has put Sansa Stark aside - and since the Kingslayer is still hostage to the Northerners, it's only natural that an exchange would occur to retrieve His Grace's  _uncle_." Eyeing Sansa, Robert grinned, clearly pleased with the turn of events. "You'd like to know though, what really tipped us off?"

Sansa stayed silent but gazed at him intently.

"That  _devoted_  Hound of yours pretty much confirmed our suspicions when he chose to sleep against your door last night. Only a man guarding a  _treasure_  would sacrifice a real bed to bunk down in a spartan corridor..." His expression now softer, Robert smiled at Sansa. "You don't have to worry though. We have every intention of delivering you to your family and no one will touch you in any improper way. You're as safe with us as you were with the Hound and very soon, you'll be with your brother. We heard that he was in Riverrun, so that's where were heading."

"That's not where the exchange was supposed to take place -"

"Where it was supposed to take place doesn't matter much to us: we're not interested in exchanging you for  _Ser Jaime Lannister_! No, as I told you, we want gold. We're poor folk here; those precious dragons will help us feed our people while you nobles bleed us smallfolk to death with your damned war. Of course, I know that you and the boy here are too young to be blamed for it and so, I apologize for this situation. Try to see it as repaying some of the horrible injustices that we commoners have been put through by your kind."

"Oh, I see... and you think that there will be more gold in Riverrun, my lord? That's why were heading there?" Sansa asked flatly.

"That's what we're hoping." Robert paused a moment before adding with a gentle smile, "By the way, no need to give  _lords_  or  _sers_  to any of us, lass. We're only a bunch of smallfolk; none of us have titles. No, call me Robert, if you want."

Sansa nodded but quickly looked elsewhere.  _Well, they certainly don't seem as bad as I first thought they were. They'll bring me back to my family. Naught has changed, really... so why do I feel so uneasy?_ Being dragged into the woods by force certainly hadn't helped to put her at ease but her situation was for the most part totally unchanged.  _A pawn is only valued by what it can be traded with, that's all I am… sometimes I feel like that's all I'll ever be._ Only, there was no denying that although she had been Sandor Clegane's prisoner, the man had nonetheless slowly gained her trust throughout their travels and even managed to bring her a measure of security that she was now starting to miss. _The Hound. Where is he? What is he doing?_

Suddenly curious, Sansa jerked her head toward Robert. "How did you know that the Hound wouldn't be with us?"

"We weren't certain but one of us went into the woods to create a diversion. Apparently it worked."

 _The muffled scream..._ Sansa realised with guilt.  _So this is my fault, after all. The Hound would never have left us if not for me. Is he looking for us right now?_  she wondered while glancing furtively around her.

****

"It's getting late, let's set up camp!" Robert yelled to his companions.

A man with dirty blond hair, whom Sansa remembered from the night before jumped off his horse and approached her. "Need help off your saddle,  _my lady_?" he asked, a little too politely to strike her as truly genuine.

Hesitant and nervous, Sansa nevertheless nodded. Grinning at her shy response, the man hastily circled her waist with his hands and brought her down a little too slowly for Sansa's taste. "Thank you," she said afterward, her voice trembling slightly while she took a step back away from him.

"You're very welcome," the man muttered softly as he closed in on her.

"Stuart! Leave the girl be. I don't want her to regret leaving the Hound's company," Robert snapped, plainly annoyed by the man, who nodded and walked away still gazing at Sansa.

"I'm sorry, lass. That one doesn't always know how to behave. He's no danger to you, though."

Sighing, Sansa gave Robert a tight smile before turning to her mare and reaching for its saddle, but the man gently pushed her aside and untied it for her.

"Thank you... Robert," she whispered, while grasping the satchel and bedroll that he handed her.

An old man with long grey hair was working on a fire not far from where she stood while Robert and the man that he had called Stuart were setting the bedrolls on the wet ground. _Where are the others?_ Sansa wondered distractedly. Julius was still tied up, although now lying on the ground. The young man was shaking like a leaf, his face wet with tears. Absorbed by the pathetic sight, Sansa stared at him for a long moment.  _I don't pity him,_ she realised, appalled by her own mercilessness.  _He used to mock me and play the man but now he's less than a boy._

"Sit down, lass. You need rest. Another long day awaits us tomorrow," Robert told her, pointing at an empty spot beside him.

There was no denying that she did feel tired and so Sansa obeyed, laying her bedroll between Robert and Julius. As she sat down, two filthy young men arrived with a few hares in their arms.

"The gods are truly smiling on us! First we came upon those two noble  _pricks_  and now, see what we have found in the snares!" one of the young men joyfully announced as he tossed the game near the fire.

Robert laid reproachful eyes on him. "Careful how you address our  _guests_ , Ulmer."

Grunting, the young man scowled as he began to skin the hares with the help of his companion.

Sansa hadn't eaten since dawn and thus when the animals were cooked at last, she had to use all of her self-control to not devour her meal in a heartbeat. As she was chewing on a chunk of the tender and delicious flesh, she realised with some guilt that Julius was unable to eat anything, tied up as he was and that he was probably starving.

"Aren't you going to unbind him? I'm sure he's hungry," Sansa murmured to Robert while gazing at her greasy hands.

"I'll feed him when I'm done with my own meal," the man muttered with his mouth full of meat.

"Why haven't you untied him? I don't think that he'd try to escape. He wanted to go with you instead of the Hound anyway."

The man jerked his head to glance at Sansa. "Yes, but that was before we abducted him. He probably doesn't like us as much anymore and besides, the lad might look inoffensive but he has most likely been trained in the art of fighting and so it's better not to take any risk at all." Smirking, Robert added in a low, satisfied tone as he gazed into the fire, "Moreover, I'd lie if I told you that I didn't take pleasure in this. You see, we Westerlands smallfolk have no love for Lannisters."

"Really?" Sansa exclaimed with shock as she turned wide eyes on Robert.

Grinning at her confusion, the man answered, "Yes,  _my lady_. Commoners don't always love their liege lords. Respect and devotion don't come automatically; they have to be cultivated, same as the land." Snorting, Robert mused almost to himself, "Yes, the land. Ours isn't very fertile. Rocks, that's all there is around here, although some of those stones are more precious than others." His smile fading away, the man turned his gaze on Sansa again. "We Westerlanders are highly dependant on the gold mines for our sustenance, all of us here used to work in one. Only, now that this  _damned war_  is bleeding the kingdoms and food is no longer freely available, what's the use of the stags and dragons we made with our work? The Riverlanders have provided us with wheat and vegetables for as long as we can remember, but those days are gone: only halfwits would supply their enemies with victuals. Furthermore, if the rumours are true, most of their crops have been burned down by the  _very honourable_  Ser Gregor Clegane _._ Still, some traders are brave enough to come into our villages and towns, but they sell their goods at impossible prices. We can't pay."

Glancing down at the remains of the hare's thigh that she was eating, Sansa felt a sudden pang of culpability. "I'm so sorry, Robert. This is so sad…"

"Yes, it is, lass. Our children and wives are getting skinnier by the day and the only thing we're left to do is to watch them disappear in front of our eyes." A hush fell between them for a few minutes while the rest of the group kept on laughing and talking loudly, oblivious to the gravity of their neighbours' discussion. After a moment, Robert sighed and carried on. "All of our misfortune began when our  _dear_  liege lord, Tywin Lannister, decided to let his most rabid dog loose in the Riverlands." Laughing wryly, the man added, "His grandson did the rest when he chopped your father's head off…"

"Please, don't talk about that," Sansa whispered in irritation while staring at her hands.

"Sorry, lass. You get my point though. Lannisters have done nothing but wrong us of late. As for your family, we don't know much about them but heard that they were loved in the North and Riverlands. Still, we need the gold we can get for you."

"I understand now."

Giving her a small grateful smile as he wiped his greasy hands on his tattered tunic, Robert stood up with a grunt. "Dusk is at our door. You have any… business in the forest before it's too dark?"

Sansa blushed at the implication but she did need to make water and so she rose and followed him through the edge of the woods. They walked for some time until they were isolated enough for Sansa to be certain that none of the men could get even the slightest glimpse of her.

All flushed, Sansa shut her eyes in shame. "Please, could you…?"

"Of course," Robert hurriedly replied, an embarrassed smile on his lips while moving away from her.

As he turned his back on her, Sansa uttered a resigned sigh. Robert wasn't far enough for her to be completely at ease but her bladder badly needed to be relieved and she was too weary to complain anyway. Turning around, she crouched and did what she had to, but as she stood up afterward and smoothed her skirts, she heard a strange throaty sound from behind her. Her eyes widened and she froze for a short instant before she turned around in one quick movement and gaped at what she saw. A few feet away from her, Robert was now facing her and wore an expression of utter shock and fear. His eyes were big and white and Sansa could read in them that the man had no clue about what had just transpired. A huge hand was covering his mouth and the point of a long sword was coming out from his chest, blood slowly dripping from it. Behind him, the dark and imposing shape of a man was standing still, as if waiting for his victim to die. An instant later, Sansa saw life vanish from Robert's eyes. The man behind him then withdrew his sword from the dead man's chest and let him fall heavily to the ground. Raising her gaze to the attacker, Sansa realised with some relief but no real surprise that it was none other than the Hound. The tall man wordlessly looked at her for a few seconds, a scowl on his face as usual, before he crouched and wiped his sword on Robert's tunic.

"Are you going to stay frozen in place all night or what? Come!" the Hound rasped impatiently with his familiar rough voice, as he rose and sheathed his long sword on his hip.

"You… you didn't have to kill him. He didn't deserve it," Sansa managed to articulate, her voice trembling, still shaken by what she had just witnessed.

Sandor Clegane's mouth twitched. "You're quick making friends. That damned bugger  _kidnapped_  you, remember?" he spat, while giving a small kick to the body to punctuate his words before urgently striding toward Sansa.

Taken aback by the Hound's rash actions and demeanour, Sansa unconsciously took a step away from him.

As he noticed her gesture, the man stopped abruptly in his way and snorted with contempt. "Now what? You want to stay with those bloody  _poxy_  thugs, is that it? I'll leave you with them, if that's what you want," he said in a tone that truly implied the opposite.

"No! I don't want to stay with them!" Sansa cried out in panic as she hastily ran toward him. "Please, take me with you!"

Grunting, the Hound grabbed her by the upper arm and began dragging her through the forest at such a fast pace that she almost fell over a couple of times. After her second stumble, he bent and slung her over his shoulder before continuing on his way through the woods. After what seemed like an eternity to Sansa, the Hound finally set her down on the forest floor. Stranger was just behind her and without warning, Sandor Clegane circled her waist with his strong hands and settled her on the horse's back before he jumped up behind her.

As the beast began moving, Sansa gasped in dread. "Wait! What about Julius?"

"What about him?" the Hound flatly rasped with obvious disinterest.

Jerking her head up to gaze at him, Sansa added in puzzlement, "He's still with the others!"

Sandor Clegane laughed harshly at her concern. "Why should I care? That little piece of shit has always been a fucking pain in my arse and nothing more."

"But he's your charge-" Sansa retorted in disbelief.

"Bugger that."

Lowering her gaze towards Stranger's mane, Sansa asked in a whisper, "Why come for me then? I'm your charge too."

The man growled some incomprehensible words, his previous mirth nowhere to be seen.

"We were both your charges!" Sansa boldly insisted, an unknown and desperate force giving her a courage that she didn't know she had.

"Will you shut that bloody mouth of yours, little bird, or would you prefer that I dropped you right here in the forest?" the man snarled, his voice as rough as steel scraping against steel.

The rudeness of the Hound's words did their work for Sansa didn't pronounce a single syllable for the rest of the ride, entering a numb state from which she didn't see much of her surroundings though the remainder of their flight. At some point, she did notice that they went across the Goldroad once again, but they were shortly back into the depths of the woods. It was pitch dark when they finally halted. Once the Hound had helped her from the saddle, Sansa sat on a dead tree. She felt as if she had just woken from a trance and was slowly regaining her conscience. Sandor Clegane appeared a little calmer and so Sansa decided to enquire one last time about Julius, if only to alleviate her guilt of abandoning him.

"Are we really going to leave Julius with those men?" she asked him with a soft voice, afraid that she would upset him once again.

Turning from his mount, the Hound gazed down at Sansa, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Aye, I already told you. I have no intention of risking my life to save that damned boy. Anyway, it didn't seem so bad being with those thugs, judging by your reaction when I thrust my sword through that bastard's heart."

Sansa frowned at his words. "Robert was a good man. He didn't deserve to be killed like that."

" _Robert,_  was it?" Sandor Clegane snorted with annoyance. "If I'd known you liked him so much, I might not have wasted my time stalking after you." He paused to stare at her reproachfully before continuing. "They were going to exchange both of you for gold, I'd wager?"

"Yes," Sansa said with a small nod.

"Then you can stop worrying about Julius. The boy will be in Lannisport soon enough," the Hound explained, scorn filling his tone as he glared down at her.

Coming suddenly back to her, a memory brought a pang of sadness into Sansa's heart. "Robert told me that they were going to use the gold to feed their families-"

The Hound grunted at that. " _Really_? How nice of them," he rasped in a mocking tone before continuing, anger back in his hoarse voice as he approached Sansa. "Still, whatever the motivation, if you abduct highborn maidens, you're a bandit and you risk being cut into pieces by men like me. You think I'll pity a fucking thug who played a  _little trick_  on me before stealing my charge while my back was turned? I'm not a good man to provoke, little bird: I kill those who mess with me. Those peasants were overly and  _stupidly_  confident to believe that they could fool me and get away with it that easily."

"They did partly get away with it… you only have me and they still have Julius," Sansa retorted without thinking but realising as soon as she had closed her lips that she had uttered an insult.

Rage oozing from him, the Hound snorted and replied, "Julius! I don't care about him-" A strange gleam suddenly passed through the man's stormy eyes and he stopped mid-sentence, but only for a short instant before his face twisted into a deep scowl. His voice was low but menacing when he spoke again. "I never chose to have him as a charge and thus don't feel  _offended_  by them keeping him. In fact, I even feel  _liberated_  if you want to know, that's why I'm leaving him with them and taking you with me. Now, enough talk for the night. Time to sleep."

Sansa was tense as she watched Sandor Clegane hastily untying his bedroll from Stranger's saddle before almost throwing it on the ground beside her. His anger was so evident that she had to use all of her remaining courage to address him further. "You… Where will you sleep?" she almost whispered.

"Against that tree," he said in a harsh tone while pointing at an oak next to where Sansa was sitting. "Now,  _you_  sleep. You hear me?"

"Yes, my lord," Sansa answered nervously as she hurriedly unrolled the Hound's bedroll and immediately laid over it.

Sandor Clegane's eyes were gleaming with fury in the dark as he tossed her an old fur and sat against the oak tree, his armour jingling noisily all the while. A confusing mix of feelings that she couldn't quite untangle overwhelmed Sansa. She kept her eyes open for a moment, certain that she wouldn't find sleep but in the end, her tiredness got the better of her and she felt herself gradually fall into a comforting abyss of dreams and unconsciousness.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Sansa**

The sun was slowly setting behind the high green peaks that crowned the horizon when they finally reached the stream that the Hound had predicted they would eventually meet. Giant shadows swallowed the foothills almost instantly, their spectral shapes absorbing trees, rocks and whole hills indifferently, leaving in their places a blank darkness that would inevitably overtake the rest of the valley in the hours to come. The Hound would not halt until dusk was truly upon them and so the unlikely duo continued their progression through the tall pine trees that thrived in the small vale. They followed the creek from afar, preferring the relative anonymity and protection of their thick branches to the openness of the riverbed where one could be seen from many leagues away. Careful to avoid the big, pale grey rocks that studded the area, Sandor Clegane let his stallion walk at a slow pace, each of its steps producing soft creaks as the beast's hooves crushed the dead, dark-orange pine needles that cloaked the ground.

Since yesterday night when they had briefly crossed the Goldroad, the Hound had kept heading relentlessly through the mountains and although she was not very familiar with the geography of the Westerlands, Sansa knew very well that with each stride that they made, she and the Hound sank deeper into the wild and further from the lane.

Breaking the silence for the first time since dawn, Sansa suddenly spoke. "Are we going to head back to the Goldroad soon?" she asked as she was getting increasingly curious about the man's plans and couldn't bear staying silent any longer.

"No, we're not," he simply growled without adding any further explanation.

"So where are we going?" Sansa uttered uneasily, frowning to herself as she wondered what Sandor Clegane had in mind.

Snorting, the Hound answered, "Don't you worry, little bird, I'm still bringing you to the Golden Tooth. Only, I have no  _fucking_  intention of passing by Lannisport now that the bloody boy is not with us. I don't think his family would welcome me with open arms when they realised that their damned son was nowhere to be found." The Hound barked a rough laugh at that, his breastplate moving against Sansa's back all the while.

Stiffening, she tried to move closer to Stranger's mane but the heavy arms that flanked her as Sandor Clegane held the horse's reins relaxed and he unconsciously leaned further into her, preventing her from putting any distance between them. Biting her lip, Sansa sighed deeply. Now that she had lost her mare, she had no other option but to ride double with the Hound and that forced proximity rendered her ill at ease, although she knew very well that given their current precarious situation, there wasn't much to do about it.

"We'll be cutting through the woods all the way to the Riverlands," Sandor Clegane finally added after a long moment of silence. "I know the area well enough to get to the exchange point without losing even so much as a bloody day from the original schedule. For all I know, we might even make better time cutting through the mountains."

"Oh… I see," Sansa whispered softly as questions by the hundreds overwhelmed her.

During the previous evening, the Hound had rescued her from her abductors, killing Robert on the way with the same facility and emotion that other men used to crush cockroaches under their boots. Sandor Clegane was a matchless warrior with unbelievable speed and strength that gave him an advantage in combat very few men could hope to rival. Sansa was convinced that he could have annihilated all four of Robert's companions with no difficulty if the desire had taken him, and so she couldn't help but wonder why he had decided otherwise and left Julius behind given all the trouble that it now brought him. True, the young man and Sandor Clegane had had no love for one another but Julius had nonetheless been the Hound's charge, just like Sansa, so why had he decided to abandon him whilst saving her?

Staring absently at the pommel, Sansa took a deep breath before giving voice to her confusion. "What… what will you do once we have reached the Golden Tooth? You can't go to Lannisport - you just told me so yourself - but doesn't that mean that you can't go to Casterly Rock either… or even to King's Landing?"

"Aye, that's exactly what it means, little bird," he rasped flatly with a hint of mirth in his gravelly tone.

Taken aback by the Hound's lack of concern for his own fate, Sansa turned in the saddle and jerked her head upward to lay her puzzled gaze on him. "You don't mind?"

Laughing hoarsely, the man shook his head slightly while boring wry eyes into hers.

"What will you become afterward, when you're done with me then? Where will you go?" she asked, totally baffled.

Smirking, Sandor Clegane answered, "Fuck me if I know or care, girl. One thing's for sure, I'm not going back to the Lannisters once I know your mother has set you safely in your new cage. I hadn't planned any of it, becoming a buggering deserter and all, but really, I'm almost  _gladdened_  by the turn of events. I'd had enough of those fuckers and especially of that little shit of a king-"

"But you have a good station with them, they like you-"

"Like me?" He snorted contemptuously at her words. "They like my sword when I kill their foes and the fear that I inspire everywhere I go, that's about it. I'll find work elsewhere, don't you lose sleep worrying about me, little bird," the Hound said mockingly, his dark eyes still staring down at her.

"Where do you plan on going?" Sansa asked in a softer tone.

"Not sure yet. I might go to the free cities… if there're still boats anchored in the Riverlands, that is," the Hound replied, his smirk slowly turning into a scowl as he raised his stare to squint at the horizon.

Lowering her gaze to stare at Stranger's mane again, Sansa murmured, "You would leave Westeros?"

"I might," the Hound grunted while spitting onto the ground beside them.

As if she hadn't been confused enough already, new questions were starting to sprout in Sansa's mind. The Hound's motivations and actions were becoming increasingly obscure to her. She couldn't understand why, now that he had decided that he would put his many years of loyal service to the Lannisters behind him and flee the Seven Kingdoms - becoming a free man all the while – Sandor Clegane still planned on delivering her to her family. It wasn't his concern anymore if the king's wishes were granted or not and thus he wouldn't gain anything by escorting her to the Golden Tooth to exchange her for Jaime Lannister. Even worse, the Hound would also lose precious time and effort in doing so.

It was almost as if Sandor Clegane genuinely and personally wanted her to be reunited with her family and aspired to be the one responsible for her safe return but the idea was too absurd to be considered seriously.  _That would explain why he has volunteered for this mission though. He gave his name. No one forced him, he told you himself,_  a small voice whispered in the back of Sansa's head. Shocked by her own silly thoughts, the young girl's eyes widened and she flushed in shame while flinching slightly away from the Hound.

"What is it?" the man asked pryingly, apparently puzzled by her sudden gesture.

"It's nothing! I'm only… cold," she answered nervously, relieved to have found a credible excuse so quickly.

"If you're cold, you won't get any warmer that way," the Hound rasped while bringing his cloak over her with one hand and pushing her shoulder against his torso with the other. "Better?"

"Yes. Thank you, my lord," she murmured, a rush of warmth staining her already pink cheeks.

 _You see, he cares for you,_  the small voice intervened once again. _No, it's ridiculous. Why would the Hound care anything about me or my fate?_  The man had helped her on a few different occasions in the past, that was true enough, but he had never compromised himself before and none of his interventions had cost him anything.  _Apart from when he risked his life to save me during the bread riot but that was different_ , she reasoned.  _He did it for Joffrey's sake._ Although even as she reflected on it, Sansa was discarding her own hollow argument: she was not naïve enough anymore to believe that the young king would have shed a single tear if she had been murdered by the press on that tragic day. Sandor Clegane had acted of his own will and nothing else, same as he was doing just now.

The revelations about the Hound were mystifying. They were showing him in a new light that allowed Sansa to see for the first time a man that gave every appearance of being nothing more than a coarse brute but was seemingly much more than that. The Hound had a hidden side, Sansa realised, that he might try to conceal but that she was nevertheless beginning to uncover without him even noticing it. Not only had Sandor Clegane accepted a risky mission with no other evident motive than her own well-being, but he had also rushed to her rescue when she had been abducted by bandits on their way, all the while forfeiting everything that he had ever gained throughout his life with no more concern than if he had lost a trivial copper. All of it sounded really… chivalrous.  _The Hound, chivalrous? That's impossible!_  Something was definitely amiss. Sandor Clegane was not one to sacrifice himself for the sake of a maiden like the knights did in the songs. On the contrary, he was a hard man who cared for naught but his sword and his wineskin; he would never forsake himself for anyone. He didn't care for her. Her heart suddenly beating fast, Sansa's eyes widened.  _What if he does? What if he's in love with me?_

"We'll stop here. It's getting dark," the Hound rasped, taking her out of her reflections as he jumped from the saddle.

As his strong hands went to circle her waist, Sansa anxiously recoiled from them, too shaken by her previous thoughts to act naturally.

"What's the matter with you, girl?" the Hound barked, obviously annoyed by her reaction.

"Nothing. You startled me, that's all."

Grunting, the man helped her from Stranger's back before freeing the horse from his saddle. They were still only paces away from the creek and so the Hound led his stallion toward the fresh water before leaving the beast free to drink his fill.

"We'll light no fire tonight; too dangerous for now," he rasped, his stare boring intently into her, as it always did. With a mocking smirk, he added, "I have some  _stale_  bread and  _rock hard_  cheese. Want some?"

Not noticing the irony in his tone, Sansa nodded distractedly; her mind was elsewhere, totally absorbed by the conclusion that she had just drawn.

The notion that Sandor Clegane could have feelings for her was very unsettling to Sansa. She had never believed that a man such as he could feel anything beside hate but the more that she thought about it, the more she realised that all the evidence was pointing toward that very conclusion. Sandor Clegane was in love with her.  _What am I thinking? The Hound is not in love with me! I'm only a stupid little bird to him and I'm even stupider to believe that he would care for me in such a fashion,_  she mused, but the idea had already taken root in her soul and there was no way to chase it away now.

After having settled their lone bedroll on the ground, the Hound nodded toward it for Sansa to sit. She did as he bid her while the man himself crouched against a pine tree just beside her. His eyes were on her as he handed her a piece of bread.  _That gaze, always the same when he looks at me… It always troubled me and I never understood it, but now…_ Was it the way that a man looked upon the object of his interest? She wasn't sure; she had never been loved by a man before and thus had no idea how to recognise the signs.

"Cheese?" the Hound rasped as he cut a chunk of the old dairy with his dagger.

"Yes, thank you," Sansa replied anxiously, hastily grabbing it from him.

She ate with no appetite, too lost in her thoughts to truly enjoy the food. Even as she was still struggling against her recent conclusion, an additional realisation suddenly froze Sansa in place, sending her heart racing. As if the concept that the Hound could be in love with her, as she was foolishly beginning to believe, was not stupefying enough, Sansa now also had to recognise that she was strangely... flattered at the idea. A man such as Sandor Clegane was certainly not the kind to enamour himself easily; if her suspicions were founded, she would have unknowingly accomplished something that very few would have succeeded in before. The man was certainly nowhere near the ideals that she had set for herself throughout her young life but she nonetheless couldn't help but feel an unexpected thrill at the prospect.

"You're quiet tonight," she heard the Hound grunt.

Blushing, she answered while avoiding his prying gaze, "I'm tired, that's all."

"Tired, yes. Tired of being in the woods with the likes of me, I gather. Sleep tight, little bird. Soon, you'll be done with this nightmare," the Hound hissed, leaning further onto the pine tree as he closed his eyes.

Turning her gaze to look at him, Sansa sighed deeply. Sandor Clegane was always so bitter and angry at everything, but could she really blame him? With his terrible burns, had he ever been loved? Had he ever been kissed?  _I could kiss him,_  she mused while gazing at the man's scarred features.  _It wouldn't be so bad; I can look beyond his burns now that I know him better._  The Hound had done everything to deserve to be kissed: he had saved her and was sacrificing himself for her. She'd be very ungrateful to refuse him that little gesture.

Without thinking further, she moved closer to him and softly pressed her lips against his.

For a numbed instant, nothing happened but then Sansa felt strong fingers firmly grab her above the elbow and push her away slightly. Her eyes popped open and she gasped in shock as she realised what she had just done. His grip still tight on her arm, the Hound was staring at her with an unreadable expression.

"What was that?" he snarled almost menacingly.

"I… I was kissing you… to thank you for everything you've done for me."

Relaxing, the Hound snorted. "How selfless of you," he scoffed, before falling into a brooding silence. For a long and uncomfortable moment, he gazed at her with the weirdest gleam shining in his eyes before adding, "I want no kisses from you though. I told you - long ago - what I wanted. Do you remember?"

Uneasy as ever, Sansa whispered, "No… what do you want?"

He laughed wryly. "I want a song."

"A song...?" she exclaimed, baffled.

"Aye," he said, laughing harshly.

_Why would he want a song?_

Staring at her more intently than before for a long and awkward moment, the Hound sighed and was about to release her arm when he suddenly smirked. "Forget what I said," he rasped. "I changed my mind, I'll take that kiss."

His grip tightening, Sandor Clegane pulled Sansa toward him. A heartbeat later, her body was against his, the roughness of his breastplate pressing against her. In a much more mature and demanding kiss than the one that she had offered him a mere instant before, the Hounds lips went searching for hers, their touch warm and wet as his tongue invaded her mouth, his free hand clutching at her waist all the while. Bemused by a situation that she had not expected, Sansa stood petrified, overwhelmed by a mix of known and unknown feelings. She shut her eyes nonetheless and let Sandor Clegane do as he pleased with her, every bit of willpower that she possessed leaving her as she leaned onto him. After what had appeared to her as a dreamlike eternity, the Hound let Sansa's lips go to look upon her, his hands still holding her tightly. For a few seconds, he almost glared at her but then plunged his head towards her neck, biting it lightly as he buried his fingers in her hair. With a passion not far from despair, the Hound sniffed it but then his touch loosened and he let her go.

Sighing, he gazed elsewhere and whispered nonchalantly, "Go to sleep now."

Momentarily dazed, Sansa stared at him with wide eyes but then came round and nodded before lying on her bedroll.

She shut her eyes, hearing the Hound as he stalked into the woods to join his horse near the creek. He was away for some time, only returning much later to lean against his tree when Sansa was finally about to lose consciousness. Her sleep would be troubled, overtaken by queer dreams that would leave her almost as tired as she had been before them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sandor**

 It was the cawing of a big crow that woke Sandor, a little after dawn. Perched on a branch not far from him, the fat bird was peering down at him with piercing ebony eyes as he slowly regained his full awareness. The crow cawed once again and jumped on the ground with a snap of dry pine needles before bouncing toward the pine tree the drowsy man was still leaning against.

Eying the bird with annoyance, Sandor abruptly stood up and strode toward it. “We’re not dead yet. Go feed in the Riverlands, will you?” he hissed as he was about to kick the animal.

 The crow flew away just in time and disappeared toward the sunrise, its strident lament echoing through the valley all the while. _Good riddance,_ Sandor mused as he followed the tiny dark shape as it merged with the sun. _I hope you collide with the sun. We’ll see if you caw so proudly then._ Smirking at his own jest, Sandor’s attention was suddenly caught by the stirring of the small bundle of fur that lay on the ground beside him. The girl was waking up. _No wonder with all the noise that that damned bird made,_ he concluded as he stared down at his charge. Yawning and stretching, she appeared dazed for an instant but quickly averted her eyes from him and blushed when she realised that she was being observed so closely.

 Scowling, Sandor grunted and turned around before stalking toward the creek. “I’ll go feed Stranger. Get ready,” he rasped simply.

 The stallion was drinking water from the stream when Sandor joined him; he briefly raised his head to glance at his master but hastily lowered his muzzle to the water again. Distractedly, Sandor patted his flank before heading to a tree to take his morning piss. Sighing, he drew his head back and shut his eyes. Sleep had been neither long nor deep enough for him to truly be rested. The events of the previous night, although short-lived, had kept him awake for many hours. He had replayed their thread in his head at least a dozen times, trying to make sense of them.

 The little bird had kissed him, taking advantage of his inattention to do so when Sandor was least expecting it. The feel of her plump lips as they lightly pressed against his had taken him right out of his doze and his eyes had instantly popped open to see the girl’s beautiful face less than an inch from his. Her expression was so bloody peaceful that for an instant time had been suspended. He’d been too disconcerted to react and too absorbed by the unaccustomed softness of the gesture to immediately push her away. The girl’s kiss had been like nothing that he had ever known. It was tender and sweet, innocent and chaste; a kiss taken right out of a _buggering_ song. Sandor snorted at the realisation. _The kiss of a maiden for her bloody knight,_ he concluded, shaking his head in disbelief as he uttered a short harsh laugh, the absurdity of it all too plain to stay completely serious.

 Well, he had still taken it in the end, hadn’t he? Sandor had not lied when he had told the little bird that his true desire was to hear her sing for him but a kiss was the next best thing and since he had always hated waste, he couldn’t let this occasion slip by and not grasp it. Brutes like him wouldn’t settle for modest pecks though. The girl had better learn that if she were to choose so poorly to whom she’d gift her kisses and be so generous with anyone who’d helped her. Stunning as she was becoming, knights, sellswords and even the lowest poxy retainers would line-up just to get a chance to assist her. If she didn’t gain some much-needed judgement and kept on offering her lips so damned easily, a catastrophe was sure to happen sooner than later. Kisses weren’t safe presents, few men wouldn’t be tempted to take more than she’d offered once they’d felt the touch of those luscious lips against theirs. Sandor himself was not much better; for half a second as he was tasting her sweet mouth, he had considered tearing her dress open and taking her right there on the solid ground but had known better than to rape his own charge and thus let her go before his blood became too hot. _It’s going be hard to look at her now, without thinking of how fucking perfect she felt under my touch,_ Sandor mused bitterly, mouth twitching slightly as he handed some hay to Stranger.

 “Do you have anything to eat?” a small whisper suddenly surprised him, taking him out of his reflections.

 Turning his head around, Sandor’s gaze fell on the girl. She was standing still and nervously staring at her hand, obviously petrified to address him after what had arisen between them the previous night.

 Tossing Stranger’s hay on the ground, Sandor strolled toward his saddlebags and searched through the jumble inside. “Here,” he said after a few seconds, while throwing a wrinkled apple in the girl’s direction.

 The little bird’s eyes grew wide as she hurried to catch the fruit just before it fell on the soil. Smirking at the spectacle that she made, Sandor’s gaze met hers for a short instant but the girl quickly turned her back on him, her uneasiness plain as she hurriedly flew away while munching at the old apple.

 Frowning, Sandor watched her as she disappeared into the woods but then snorted and grabbed his saddle in his arms. _We’re back to square one; a scared, mute little bird afraid of the coarse hound that guards her,_ he reflected sardonically before snorting again. _I was just becoming used to her constant buggering chirping. Well, at least I know that she won’t naively go on kissing men as if it had no fucking consequences. She learned a bloody good lesson yesterday, the hard way,_ he decided as he settled the saddle on Stranger’s back.

 The sun was getting higher by the minute, Sandor realised with concern as he put on his cloak and grabbed an apple for himself. “Hurry, little bird. Time to go,” he flatly yelled in her direction. Contrary to what he had assured her the day before, Sandor was far from certain that they would make it on schedule for the exchange, and so he was adamant about making the best time possible today.

 After a moment, the girl arrived, still avoiding his stare as she approached him. His scowl deepening, Sandor grabbed her by the waist with a bit too much force. A yelp escaped her lips and she tensed under his touch as he lifted her from the ground and settled her on their mount. Mouth twitching, the man jumped up behind her and kicked his stallion with his heels; the beast began to walk, continuing on with their long journey toward the Golden Tooth.

 ****

 It was close to midday when a cloak of grey clouds began to cover the sun and the once pure azure in which it revolved. Although the light still pierced through, the darkening of the sky augured naught but inevitable rain in this season and thus Sandor continuously kept squinting upward as if his severe gaze could somehow keep the elements in check. His mood, as grim as the weather, was in fact truly a counterpart of the girl’s demeanour, growing increasingly more morose as the hours went on and she held her tongue and systematically avoided his gaze.

 “You’re hungry, girl?” he rasped, as much to fill the void between them than to voice his own building craving for some food.

 Wordlessly, the little bird nodded slightly while keeping her eyes on the pommel.

 Sighing deeply, Sandor abruptly halted Stranger. _Enough of this_ , he thought to himself with annoyance as he jumped from the saddle. The little bird threw him a puzzled glance as he circled his hands around her tiny waist but once he had set her down, her pretty blue eyes were already demurely lowered. Glaring down at her, Sandor grabbed her chin with gloved fingers and lifted her head upward. Her face was all flushed and her eyes were wide but she was finally gazing at him.

 “Listen to me, little bird,” he said dryly. “I don’t know what in the seven hells got into you to kiss me yesterday but I wasn’t the one to start it, _you_ were. If you regret it, it’s your own damned fault, so don’t take it out on me. I told you before, I want you to _look at me_ and I won’t stand your silence much longer either, you hear me?”

 For a short moment Sandor regretted his outburst for the girl seemed even more anxious than before, eluding his eyes - exactly as he had just demanded her not to - but only for a few seconds before she unexpectedly raised her gaze to look at him. “I’m sorry,” she answered in weak voice. “I… I don’t regret it; you deserved it, only… it was my first kiss,” she added while blushing madly. “I shouldn’t have avoided you as I did today. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

 Releasing her chin, Sandor studied her for some time. _Her first kiss, with a dog,_ he mused wryly, a smirk uncontrollably forming on his lips. _She’s shy as a maiden… naturally._ “Whatever your reasons, I’ll _forgive_ you as long as you stop acting so bloody haughty,” he rasped in a softer tone as he turned around to get some bread from Stranger’s saddlebag. “Here, take this. We’ll eat in the saddle. I don’t like the look of that sky. We’d better get going.”

 Obviously more at ease than she had been throughout the whole day, the little bird acquiesced with a bright smile and let Sandor settle her into the saddle without flinching.

 It was in a much improved atmosphere that they rode for the first few hours of the afternoon, though still in silence. The girl wasn’t so tense anymore, her soft body had relaxed and was even leaning into him from time to time, but in those moments it was Sandor’s turn to be tense. He couldn’t help but look down at her curves, a nearly uncontrollable urge to fondle every inch of her skin overtaking him as he remembered how intoxicating it had felt to hold her in his arms. His lust for her had alarmingly increased, he realised with a hint of apprehension.

 “I felt a drop!” the little bird suddenly cried out, as Sandor was distractedly breathing in the aroma of her luxuriant hair.

 “Raise your hood to keep your face dry. I’ll find us a place to spend the night, don’t worry.”

 Peering at the horizon, Sandor quickly gauged the distance that separated them from the nearest mountains. They were relatively close but he had no unrealistic expectations; the chances that they could get to their base in time to find a shelter before the flood truly began were very thin. He would need to think of something else. Just as he was resigning himself to trying to reach the hills anyway, Sandor noticed that there was a descent not too far to his left. He could only hope that on the foot of that slope there would be some sort of cave or even a mere hollow where they could hide for the night. In a few hasty strides, Stranger had reached the descent and Sandor was relieved to see that it was neither too steep nor too high.

 Jumping from his mount’s back, he raised his eyes to the girl. “We’re going down. It’ll be easier for Stranger to descend that slope without my weight on his back. Stay there though, you’re light as a bloody feather. I’ll wager he doesn’t even feel you’re there.”

 Giggling lightly, the little bird blushed a pretty shade of pink and for a moment, Sandor wondered if it hadn’t been for the best when she was ignoring him but he chased the idea away and began to descend while keeping a firm grip on Stranger’s reins. The rain was still faint but the gloom of the clouds promised a torrent that would overtake the valley very soon and so Sandor hurried down the slope, following natural paths that weren’t as precipitous as the rest of the hillside. The girl was quiet; he could tell that she was nervous, same as Stranger.  A few murmurs of encouragement were enough to soothe the beast however, but when Sandor jerked his head around to see how the little bird was faring, he noticed that she had curiously been reassured by his soft words, same as the horse.

 Once they were finally down, the man scanned his surroundings and was quick to find what he was looking for. Only a few paces from him, the mouth of a cave was visible, hidden behind a clump of trees. _Perfect_ , he mused as he entered the dark opening. The cavern wasn’t really deep but it was big enough for him to stand in its entrance and there was space enough for both he and his charge to sleep _comfortably_. They could even build a small fire if there was still some dry wood to be found nearby. Stranger, on the other hand, would have to spend the night under the pine trees, but it wouldn’t be so bad; the stallion had seen far worse.

 “It’s no inn but it’s better than soaking ourselves to the skin. I’ll try to find some dead wood before the bloody _deluge_ falls on us,” Sandor rasped as he settled the saddle inside the cave.

 The little bird was gazing around her with badly-concealed reserve, obviously apprehensive at being left alone but she nonetheless smiled at him and nodded.

 Underneath the pine trees, Sandor found enough dry wood to light a respectable fire and brought it all back to the cavern in many round trips. In the hope of making the place as cosy as possible, he also collected some pine branches on his way and carpeted the cave’s floor with it; it was no feather bed but anything was better than the cold cruelty of a cave’s hard surface. After about an hour of preparation, Sandor was finally done. As he sat by the fire after setting his cloak to dry on a boulder not far away, the first thunder of the evening reverberated across the valley, its raucous din quickly followed by a flash of lightning and a sudden downpour.

 “A storm!” the little bird exclaimed as she turned her head toward the cave’s mouth. “I can’t believe we made it just in time! We’ll be dry tomorrow when we leave this place,” she added with a broad smile while undoing her long braid. Her hair was extremely tangled and she tried almost vainly to work through it with her fingers for some time, quickly losing her grin and sighing at her lack of progress. “I’ll never get through this. I lost all my things, my brush, my dresses…” she complained in a whisper.

 Sandor snorted and twisted around from his place to search in the saddlebag. “Here, take my comb. I won’t hear you complain all night,” he told her as he handed her an old wooden comb.

 Grinning, the little bird hurriedly grasped it. “Oh, thank you! My hair is in such a mess, I was getting worried that I would never unravel it,” she chirped with as much gratitude as if he had given her a buggering golden necklace while a new flash of lightning lit up the cave. Standing up with glimmering wide eyes, she approached the cave’s mouth while murmuring, “What a beautiful storm, it’s been so long since I’ve seen one.”

  _Beautiful, yes,_ Sandor thought as he watched her silhouette moving slowly away from him. The little bird worked patiently through her hair for a long time while gazing distractedly at the thunderstorm as it raged outside. Putting her long locks sideways, she caressed the curls with her fingers and the comb while humming an unknown melody to Sandor. Her pale neck was exposed to his thirsty vision and he was drinking from the sight of that pure skin with the same hunger than a starved man would gulp wine. His stare was getting too heavy for the girl not to notice; she glanced at him, seemingly disconcerted by its intensity. Nervously, she managed a faint smile before jerking her head around almost completely and resumed combing her hair as if nothing had happened.

  _No, little bird, something did happen. Yesterday you foolishly let me get a taste of you, and now all I can think about is consuming you completely._ How was he ever going to make it to the Golden Tooth without taking her or at least touching and kissing her again? _Some things are simply bloody impossible_ , he sighed to himself as he stood up and slowly approached the oblivious girl from behind. His heart fluttering, he lightly circled his fingers around her throat and pressed his open mouth to the nape of her neck. The little bird tensed and gasped as the comb slipped out of her hand but she stayed still. Breathing heavily, Sandor let his hand slide under the girl’s dress to caress her shoulder and collarbone, his lips travelling to the side of her neck, licking it and biting it lightly but firmly while his free hand instinctively grasped her waist. Her breasts were heaving up and down at a fast pace, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shut when he finally raised his head from the crook of her neck.

  _Is she scared?_ he wondered, his hands still possessively clenched on her. As he was about to let her go, the girl turned around and looked up at him. Her cheeks were aflame and her mouth was slightly opened in an expression of utter shock but her eyes were piercing as ever. They were boring into his with so much intensity that he felt as if she was seeing him for the very first time. Sandor stood motionless for an instant but then he felt it again; her plump lips reaching for his as softly, chastely and tenderly as the first time, in a brief and unexpected kiss.

 Transfixed for a moment, he could only peer down at her, baffled as she suddenly left his mouth. “Why would you do that again, little bird?” he simply rasped.

 Flushed and out of breath, she whispered, “I thought you might like it. You deserved it… again.”

 “Really?” he growled in a low tone. “Does that mean that you’ll be kissing me every time that I behave?” Sandor muttered slowly. Caressing the girl’s jaw, he snorted before adding, “As if I were a bloody hound for real, and you its master, rewarding it with kisses. Is that it?”

 Breathing in, she lowered her stare and tried to recoil from him but he didn’t want her to go and his grip was too firm. _What is she trying to achieve with this?_ She was still so young, having just shared her very first kiss with him on the previous night. _A maiden exploring her seductive might for the first time, that’s what she is._ Sandor was a toy, he realised, a wounded mouse thrown to a kitten by its mother so that it could learn how to hunt and kill. The thought brought a smirk to his lips. _I’ll be just that, if that’s what you want, Sansa. I’m yours to play with. Sharpen your little claws on me, if that’s what you will. I won’t ever complain and you, you’ll have to most faithful dog of them all. A hound never bites the hand that feeds him,_ he reflected, as he caressed her cheek with his fingers. At the feel of his touch, the girl’s gaze rose; their eyes locked and she shyly smiled at him.

Right then, Sandor realised that he had just found his first true master.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello everyone!**

**Here’s a new chapter, at last! Sorry if I kept you waiting. Anyway, it’s longer than usual so in a way it’s like a double chapter…**

**Special thanks to my beta wildsky_sheri, as always and a happy new year to all of my readers!!!**

**Sansa**

Lying on her bedroll with her eyes wide open, Sansa stared at the wet rocky ceiling of the cavern in which she and the Hound had spent the night. She had just woken up and to her utter surprise, she felt more rested than she had since the day that her father had been beheaded and her life had been morphed into a living nightmare by that tragic event. _Who would have thought that such a gloomy environment could turn out to be so cozy and warm?_ shereflected as she let her gaze wander over the craggy and sinister walls. Rising on her elbow, Sansa glanced out of the mouth of the cave; the weather was still as wet as the previous afternoon, however through the thick rain, sunbeams were shyly beginning to pierce the clouds, lighting up the once shadowy floor of the forest. With some luck, the rain would stop completely before they were both ready to go.

For the first time since their departure, Sandor Clegane was sleeping late. It wasn’t like him to linger in bedafter the sunrise and Sansa was far from accustomed to being the first one to rise of the two of them but she nevertheless didn’t have the heart to wake him up. After four days of either sleeping against a wooden door, a tree or on pine branches, not only did the Hound deserve to rest but he also badly needed to catch up on rest in order to stay in his prime. Who knew the dangers that were to come? _I wonder how he’s able to sleep clad in steel,_ she mused distractedly as she eyed the man’s old, plain grey amour. Sandor Clegane’s large body lay on its back only a few feet from her, snoring lightly and stirring in a crackle of steel from time to time. His long limbs were spread around him and one of his hands rested on the ground only a few inches from Sansa. _Such big, strong hands_ , she reflected, the thought sending shivers through her as memory of their jealous touch assailed her and images of the previous night flashed in her mind. Sitting up, Sansa’s gaze travelled over the Hound’s arm and slowly reached his face. From where she lay, she could only see his burns and the twisted and leathery flesh was still as gruesome as it had been on their first encounter. Naught could ever conceal nor change that cruel reality. _So why did I want to kiss him again?_ she wondered, puzzled by her own actions. _He did deserve a kiss for all the help that he gave me - I would never deny it - but two?_ _I should’ve slapped him instead after the liberties that he has taken with me!_ Maidens were expected to gift kisses to their saviors in order to express their gratitude, it was well known and so by that gesture Sansa had only meant to show the Hound her thankfulness, not to give him permission to touch her like he had while she was brushing her hair. Sandor Clegane had even gone as far as to impudently slide his hand under her collar. _That was highly improper!_ she mused, heat flushing her cheeks as her tummy fluttered queerly. The kiss that had ensued had come out of nowhere and the Hound had not even seemed to appreciate it at first, rendering Sansa scared that he would be mad at her for it but then the man had gently caressed her cheek and led her near the fire to eat their dinner as if nothing had happened. Once she had eaten, Sansa - who was exhausted by their long day of travel - had fallen asleep almost instantly and so there had been no more contact between the two of them on that night.

 _What would the Hound have done if I had not fallen asleep? He probably would have tried to kiss me again, with his tongue and all, as he had two days ago_ , she decided as a deep and unexpectedly exhilarating flush crept over her whole body. Abashed by her own unladylike reaction to such a brutish man, Sansa had no other option than to admit to herself that she had indeed enjoyed the Hound’s touch and attention, no matter how unseemly it had been. His interest in her was unmistakable and that in itself was quite thrilling; it brought her a whole new kind of gratification that she had never experienced before but that she enjoyed thoroughly. Sandor Clegane’s ways were strange to her though. He was more beast than man when it came to intimacy, she realized as a small smile unconsciously formed on her lips. Despite his age, the Hound had most likely not been with many women judging by the clumsy and coarse fashion of his approaches, offering more licks, bites and sniffing than kisses and soft caresses as would be expected of a regular grown man. Mayhap that was the reason why she had kissed him again, she decided, to show him how ladies were meant to be courted. Would the Hound listen to her if she tried to teach him how those things were meant to be done? It was hard to say but it was worth trying. _Worth trying? What am I thinking? I have nothing to gain from that!_

As Sansa was trying to figure out her own silly thoughts, the Hound suddenly grunted and opened his eyes.

Turning his head around, he laid his already alert gaze on her. “You’re awake, little bird?” he said, snorting. “I slept too long.”

Blushing instantly, Sansa replied softly, “No, you needed rest. It’s still raining anyhow.”

His stare was on her for some time before he sat up and glanced outside. “True, the sun is about to show itself though. We might as well wait a bit.” After a yawn, the Hound rose from the ground and stretched before heading outside. “I’ll go check on Stanger for a moment.”

Nodding, Sansa followed his lead and stood up. The Hound’s wooden comb was still lying on the soil in the cave’s entrance where she had dropped it the previous night and so she strolled toward it and picked it up. Carefully, she resumed the brushing of her hair, all the while watching Sandor Clegane as he fed his fierce dark stallion. Feeling that her attention was on him, the man abruptly twisted his head around and gazed at her. His eyes were narrowed and the hint of a smirk had appeared on his lips as he chucked Stranger’s hay on the ground and re-entered the cavern. Very slowly, he approached Sansa, stopping only when he was inches from her, his stare boring into her as he loomed over her. He definitely made for a frightening sight but Sansa didn’t flinch from him for there was something new and exciting about that fright. She stood motionless, anticipation overcoming her as she listened to her own frantic heartbeat, waiting for something to happen.

After an unknown number of almost unbearable seconds during which time halted completely, Sandor Clegane finally spoke. “I won’t stop you this time around, or else you’ll never be done with that hair of yours,” he muttered as he moved away from her, his gaze never once leaving her as he sat against a boulder. 

For an instant, Sansa remained petrified, a strange mix of relief and disappointment overwhelming her. Her hair was still a mess though and therefore she shortly shook herself and proceeded with her task.

When her locks were finally untangled and shone as brightly as copper, Sansa walked toward the boulder where Sandor Clegane was crouched and handed him his comb. “Here, my lord. Thank you so much,” she told him softly, a shy smile on her lips.

“You know I’m no _buggering_ lord, Sansa,” he rasped while grasping her wrist instead of the comb. “Shouldn’t you call me _Sandor_ now that you’re kissing me?”

Sansa gasped as the Hound yanked her down. She fell over him but quickly moved off and got on her knees beside him, her palms resting flatly over his breastplate to gain some balance. The man’s strong fingers were still on her wrist and he hastily grabbed her waist with his free hand to prevent her from going any further. Warmth was suffusing Sansa’s whole body as she stared at him, eyes glistening with surprise. _There’s no point in trying to recoil from him, he’s too strong,_ she rationalized as she sat down, letting him drag her toward him and bury his face in her hair. His breath was warm against her neck and the sensation was quite pleasurable. Instinctively, she drew back her head and shut her eyes but it wasn’t long before she realized that he was snuffling her like a dog again. She wasn’t able to hold back a giggle at the thought.

 “What’s so funny, little bird?” the Hound asked as he leaned his head back against the boulder and looked at her, a smirk on his lips.

“Nothing, it’s just that you…” she trailed off, grinning and blushing madly.

“I what?” he inquired, eyes narrowing as he tightened his grip on her. “Tell me.”

She surely couldn’t tell him that she found his _animal_ ways to be quite amusing and so she decided to shut him up with the only weapon that she possessed which she knew would work on him. Softly, she pressed her lips against his, offering him a short and tender kiss, the gesture inducing a satisfied grunt from him as butterflies filled her belly. He was eyeing her hungrily, mouth slightly opened when she slowly moved her head back. _How can kissing such a man feel so good?_ she wondered, biting her lip nervously. Not truly caring to learn the answer to that question but craving for more of that weirdly pleasant fluttering, Sansa leaned her body further into his and kissed him again, this time slower, her lips lingering against his, caressing them tentatively.  Both she and the Hound kept their eyes opened through the kiss and as she grew bold enough to let the tip of her tongue shyly slide over his bottom lip, Sansa saw something change in his gaze. A fire had been lit in his eyes, or so it seemed. His breathing heavy, the Hound’s body had tensed but he had curiously gone still, almost impassive. His hands, although still on her, had loosened their grip and that loss of strength was not only unexpected but almost frustrating to Sansa who could only stare back at him, slightly confused by that abrupt shift in him. _What’s the matter with him?_ she wondered perplexedly, a pout forming on her lips.

His expression unreadable, the Hound seemed to ponder something for a long moment before he broke the awkward silence that stood between them. “We’d better get going, the rain has stopped,” he rasped as he gently pushed her away from him and rose. “Stay here, I’ll go prepare Stranger.”

For an instant, Sansa stayed in place, baffled by Sandor Clegane’s reaction but then she sighed and stood up. _I might as well do something while I wait,_ she decided as she headed to the bedroll, rolled it and folded the fur. When she was done, she braided her hair and tied her lone ribbon at its end before sitting on the pine branches on which the Hound had slept. _Why did he have to go so abruptly? I thought he liked my kisses,_ she complained inwardly, slightly irritated by his brusque and unanticipated retreat. As she was starting to grow impatient and considering going to see for herself what was taking so long, Sandor Clegane re-entered the cavern.

“You’re ready, girl?” he asked as he picked up the saddle.

Still on the ground, Sansa looked up to glare at the towering man. “Yes, my lord,” she answered in a dry tone after some time.

Smirking, the Hound retorted, “No more ‘ _my lord’_. I told you. _Sandor._ That’s my name.” When she did not reply, the man added in low rasp, “Is something amiss, Sansa?”

“No, of course not,” she murmured coldly, head held high.

“Then stop pouting and come,” he growled as he grabbed her above the elbow and raised her from the ground. Pausing to study her for an instant, Sandor Clegane continued, a hint of mirth in his gravelly voice, “Unless you’d prefer that I drag you under my arm, like that saddle.”

As he voiced his threat, the man’s smirk evolved into a grin and the sight was so unusual and bizarre that Sansa felt her own mouth uncontrollably curl into a wide smile.

“See, that’s much better,” the Hound said while caressing her cheek with calloused fingers. “Come.”

He led her outside and Sansa watched as he swung the saddle over Stranger’s back before circling her waist and settling her over it. They were shortly on their way, riding though a thick wood of pine trees at first, but as the day went by and they kept descending steadily, Sansa noticed a slow but definitive change in the vegetation of the vale. Conifers were gradually giving way to broad-leaved trees and the young maiden was amazed by the beauty of their autumn finery. Their leaves of varying hues of yellow and red were shining in the sunlight as thousands of summer flowers cloaked the hills from top to bottom and she had never seen anything even slightly comparable. The scenery was astounding; she couldn’t stop herself from commenting on every new sight that they came across, sharing all her impressions with her companion even though the man didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. The Hound stayed mostly silent but he didn’t appear to mind her excitement either and thus Sansa, who was growing increasingly more at ease and comfortable with every passing minute, kept on talking and even rested a delicate hand over one of his arms at some point during the day, a contact that lasted throughout the rest of the ride.

As the sun slowly but irrevocably approached the mountains, Sansa and her escort entered a small clearing in the middle of which was an apparition from the heavens - a robust apple tree where plump, shiny fruit flourished by the dozen.

“Apples! Fresh apples! I could hardly bear to eat those _wrinkled_ ones we still have!” Sansa exclaimed with immense delight, as Sandor Clegane halted their mount. She could almost taste their juicy and sweet pulp from afar.

“I’ll agree it won’t bloody hurt to eat something that’s not stale or hard enough to break a fine set of teeth,” he rasped as he helped Sansa down from the horse.

The apple tree was tall and only a few branches were low enough for Sansa to pluck the fruit by herself but a fat and appetizing apple was within her reach and so she grasped it immediately. Few things had ever tasted so good to Sansa and therefore she was all smiles as she engulfed its tender flesh, all the while watching Stranger lower his head to pick a few apples on the ground for himself.

“I got rid of those mockeries of apples that we were afflicted with,” Sandor Clegane said after Sansa was done eating. “I’m sure you won’t complain if we bring a few of these ones instead.”

Her enthusiasm was evident as she vigorously nodded and so the Hound slid his hands around her waist and lifted her from the ground, settling her on the lowest branch of the tree.

“Here, help me with that,” the Hound demanded, as he pointed upward to the fruit that now surrounded her.

With plenty of apples now easy to access, Sansa began her careful plucking, handing them one by one to her companion, who was filling the saddlebag with their precious finds. As their provisions expanded and the saddlebag became fuller than it had been in weeks, the fruits within reach were getting scarcer and thus Sansa peered upward one last time to make sure that she had taken all she could. Just as she was about to reach for an apple, she felt strong hands travel from her sides to her lower back as a warm mouth pressed hungrily against her neck just below the ear. A gasp on her lips, Sansa’s eyes grew wide but rapidly thinned in pleasure as she instinctively snaked her arms over her hulking _assailant’s_ shoulders. She was perched on a branch like the little bird he had so often claimed she was and from that roost she could for once look down at him - although only barely - as he tilted his head to gaze at her, eyes narrowed and burning intently again. This time, their kiss was mutual and passionate, all her previous chastity melting like snow in the summer sun. Without restraint, Sansa let the Hound’s demanding tongue guide hers in a queer and almost obscene dance that made her blush madly as heat spread over her whole body in an unsettling but delicious way.

The passion of the moment overtaking her judgment, she didn’t even flinch when Sandor Clegane’s hands slid alarmingly high on her ribs but a creaking sound that came from the edge of the woods nonetheless caught her attention.

As Sansa was opening dreamy eyes, a voice that resounded through the forest suddenly made her jump in place. “Ooh!” she heard the voice exclaim.

In one swift movement, the Hound turned around, his left hand still possessively clasped around her waist. “What in the seven hells is that?” he hissed hoarsely, barely containing his confusion and annoyance.

“Uh… n… nothing m’lord,” the voice replied in a scared whisper.

Leaving Sansa, Sandor Clegane quickly strode toward the intruder. It was a skinny woman of an age with Sansa’s mother. Her hair was a shade between brown and grey, she was of average height and she looked extremely poor judging by the tattered state of her gown and worn-out cloak. At the sight of the Hound’s scars, the woman’s already taut face distorted with fright as she instinctively moved back from him.

“M’lord Hound! I’m s… sorry if I interrupted you, I’ll leave you alone now,” she cried out as she was about to turn around and flee.

“No one ever told you that you weren’t supposed to spy on people?” the man rasped as he caught the woman’s upper arm with his hand just in time.

“I was not spying! I was only going to pick some apples for me and the others,” she retorted as she lowered panicked eyes to the ground.

“The others?” the Hound sneered. “Didn’t think these damned mountains were inhabited apart from stinking goats and a few lost pilgrims. How many poxy peasants are there, hiding in these woods like bloody rats?”

“N… not many, but times are _harsh_ , m’lord! We _had_ to flee from the Riverlands. It was that or die burning or - who knows - even worse!”

Snorting, Sandor Clegane pulled on the woman’s arm to make her look at him. “Of course,” he scoffed. “Show us to that little settlement of yours, will you? I’m _dying_ to see the jape of a village you live in.” Releasing the woman’s arm, he added lowly in a threatening tone while nodding toward Sansa, “And _no_ fucking word to anyone about that _thing_ you interrupted between the _lady_ and I, understood?”

“Oh yes,” she acquiesced with vigor.

“Fine. Go on then, we’ll follow you.”

The woman stared at her feet for a moment, her breathing frantic, before she abruptly headed into the woods.

Sansa was still settled on the branch and as the Hound grabbed her by the waist to place her on Stanger’s saddle instead, she whispered to him in a reproachful tone, “You were very harsh with that poor woman.”

“I’m harsh with everyone,” he replied, looking more serious than ever.

The Hound didn’t bother to straddle his horse and only led the beast by its reins as he followed in the unknown woman’s path. It wasn’t long before they arrived at another bigger clearing in which bleak huts had been built up. A few dirty children, seven maybe, were running and playing with one another while four women were grouped around a fire, two of them with toddlers in their laps while the others were busy mending faded clothes. As they heard the dull sound of Stranger’s hooves on the ground, they all turned worried eyes on their friend and gaped when they saw her escort.

“As you can see, m’lord, we’re just a bunch of poor smallfolk. We’re doing no harm here-”

“Bert? Who’s those people?” another woman cried out, although her expression revealed that she had already guessed the Hound’s identity.

“Nice people, of course. They only want accommodation for the night, that’s all,” the woman named Bert answered nervously as two of her friends stood up and approached.

One of them, an old woman with long grayish-white hair lifted her hand to her mouth, her eyes suddenly widened. “You look just like her!” she said, staring at Sansa. “You’re her daughter, of course. Winterfell’s daughter!”

For a moment, Sansa was too dumbstruck to react, all she could do was lower her gaze on the Hound who was as silent as she, his mouth twitching. The woman named Bert gazed incredulously at her older friend for an instant but then she brusquely turned her stare on Sansa, shock filling her eyes. _Oh, right, the kiss…_

“I saw your mother more than once when she was your age,” the old woman continued. “You’re her very image; you have my word on it! My late husband - the gods bless him – used to work for one of your grandfather’s bannermen. I was blessed enough to meet the Lord of Riverrun and his family on a few occasions.”

“Meet them? Did you share bread and salt with them, hag?” the Hound rasped between gritted teeth. “More like you saw them from afar, hidden inside that dilapidated cabin you called your house.”

“The lord of the Riverlands took the time to salute and bless us,” the crone dauntlessly retorted.

“And did that blessing help you?’ Sandor Clegane inquired, snorting as he approached the woman. “Seems like it didn’t, looking at you now.”

 _Why is he so mean? That was unnecessary and rude,_ Sansa reflected as she laid outraged eyes on the Hound, disappointed by the total lack of tact that he was showing. Apparently not noticing the change in her demeanor, the man grasped her by the waist and brought her to the ground. After recoiling from him and rapidly smoothing her skirts, Sansa headed toward the old woman to introduce herself. Two children of about six or seven years old had gotten closer to the action and were staring apprehensively in their direction while the others had all rejoined their mothers, some of them crying pitifully. The scene was so miserable that Sansa felt overwhelmed by shame; she was nonetheless able to compose herself, determined to repair the damage as much as possible.

“I am very honored to hear that you’ve met my lady mother and lord grandfather,” she began with a bright smile as she approached the crone. “As you deduced, I am Sansa of House Stark. Who do I have the pleasure of-”

“We’re back! We caught plenty of hares, a goat even!” distant joyful voices interrupted her.

As they heard the remote noises that their returning husbands made as they neared the camp, the women all appeared to grow even more distraught, exchanging wordless glances with one another as Sandor Clegane turned his prying gaze in the newcomers’ direction. Three men were strolling toward the clearing, their arms filled with dead animals. They seemingly had not noticed their impromptu visitors for they were laughing and talking loudly. As they were strolling only paces from the camp, they suddenly halted in their path, finally realizing that something was wrong. The Hound had already begun walking toward them and was glaring at them with open disdain.

“You bloody smallfolk have been stealing from the noblemen’s reserve, I see. Your lords never told you that their game wasn’t meant for you?” Sandor Clegane spat while poking the goat that hung from one of the men’s shoulders.

“We…” one of the men trailed off before frowning. “Who are you and what are you here for?”

“It’s the Hound, can’t you see, Aldous?” one of the women with a toddler in her lap exclaimed.

The man’s skin suddenly turned white and he dropped his game on the ground. “We’re only trying to survive here, ser. Please, don’t tell.”

The Hound snorted. “And why should I spare you? You’re not in the bloody Riverlands. We’re still in Westerlands territory here and I’m certain that my lord _Tywin Lannister_ would like to hear about you buggers poaching on his lands.”

“Please, ser! We’re no thieves-”

“And I’m no ser,” Sandor Clegane snarled menacingly.

 _What game is the Hound playing?_ Sansa wondered, frowning all the more.  She knew very well that he had repudiated his ancient masters and that he was now no more attached to Tywin Lannister than these people were. Couldn’t he see that they were only trying to feed their children? He was being cruel, she realized. “We won’t denounce you,” she heard herself say. “Give us shelter and you can count on our silence.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” the man exclaimed, bowing clumsily but sincerely.

“And share that meat with us,” the Hound added while nodding at the dead goat that lay on the ground.

“Of course, m’lord.”

****

The goat was long skinned and had been roasting over the fire for more than an hour. Sansa had used that spare time to become acquainted with the smallfolk that were receiving them, learning each of their names and even cradling one of the toddlers in her arms at one point to give his mother a break. As they had briefly mentioned earlier, their hosts were all honest people escaping the horrors of the war that thrived in the Riverlands and they were all thrilled to shelter the daughter of Catelyn _Tully_ in their modest camp. Sansa was glad to lighten their day with her presence and happy to listen to their stories but she couldn’t quite completely give her attention to them for she was continually distracted by Sandor Clegane’s heavy and invasive stare. She tried all she could to ignore him; the man deserved it after all, and so her eyes methodically avoided the Hound’s dark shape as he kept himself apart from the group and scowled at anyone who dared approach him.

When the goat was cooked at last and ready to be eaten, Sandor Clegane, who had left them a moment ago, called Sansa out from the wooden structure in which the smallfolk kept their few provisions and old mules and that would serve as a stable for Stranger for the night.

Standing up, she left the women who all gave her looks as worried as if she had just received an invitation from the Stranger himself. She couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous herself as she neared the relatively remote structure and saw the Hound’s tall shadow in the foreground before her, long enough that it had already reached her.

“Here you are,” she heard him say as he caught her by the waist and yanked her to him. “Not too bloody disconcerted about the prospect of sleeping in one of those sloppy huts?” he hoarsely muttered in her ear.

Recoiling from him, Sansa answered dryly, “No, I’m perfectly fine with it.”

Quickly, she tried to move back from him but the Hound grasped her by the wrist. “What’s the matter with you, little bird?” he rasped, a scowl instantly appearing on his face.

For a moment, she was overwhelmed by a nervousness not far from fear - Sandor Clegane could be extremely intimidating when he wanted – but then she regained her courage and raised her stare to him. “Why did you have to be so mean to those poor people? They would never have done us any harm and would have shared their meat with us _even_ without your threats!”

“How do you know?” The Hound uttered a short mirthless laugh. “The world is not as pretty as you believe, little bird. It’s everyone for themselves and don’t count on _anyone_ for helping you for free. You’ve _got_ to take your place, or else, you’ll be eaten by the others.”

“You’re wrong! Kindness brings kindness!” she exclaimed as she freed her wrist from his grip.

“Where do you think you’re going like this?” he growled as he unsuccessfully reached for her arm.

“Elsewhere!” she answered as she swiftly strode toward the fire.

“Sansa!” he yelled, his voice filled with anger and incomprehension as he followed her for some length but then stopped, watching her as she fled from him.

When she got to the fire, all the smallfolk followed her with their eyes as she sat among them. _Did they hear anything?_ she wondered with concern but the answer was obvious in the compassionate looks that the women all gave her, especially Bert. Again, Sansa remembered with a deep blush, the kiss that the woman had interrupted between her and the Hound earlier that afternoon. _Oh, what must she be thinking?_

One of the men was busy slicing the goat when Sandor Clegane arrived a few minutes later and all eyes were on the tall man as he sat at the opposite side of the fire from Sansa. Looking tense, he glared at her for an instant but then grabbed a piece of meat and gazed elsewhere.

“M’lady Sansa,” Bert suddenly whispered. “You could sleep in my hut if you’d like, with me and my two children.”

Biting her lips nervously, Sansa had to fight against the urge that took her to glance interrogatingly at the Hound as she had always done throughout their travel when the time to make a choice had come. _I’ll decide for myself tonight,_ she decided. “Why not, Bert? It’s nice of you to offer, I’ll gladly spend the night in your hut,” she replied loudly enough for her escort to understand.

“We’ll find a place for you as well in one of our other huts, m’lord, don’t you worry,” one of the man hastily affirmed.

His stare boring deep into the fire, Sandor Clegane snorted derisively. “No need for that.” Raising his stare on Sansa, he added in a low grunt, “I’ll sleep outside the lady’s hut. I’m not leaving her unguarded.” 

 _He makes it sound almost like a threat,_ the young girl reflected, a shudder going through her as she quickly lowered her troubled gaze to her meal.

When the goat had been consumed and dusk was truly upon them, Sansa followed Bert to her hut. Once inside, she was pleasantly surprised by the relative cleanliness and spaciousness of the apparently smaller habitation. There was plenty of space for her to settle her bedroll and fur on the dirt ground floor although there was obviously no intimacy to speak of in such a rustic lodging. Both of Bert’s children with her late husband – a victim of the current war - were fairly young and so they went straight to bed, falling asleep on the old straw almost instantly.

“Is there anything I could do to help you further, m’lady?” Bert asked as she was leaving her children’s side.

Sansa knew very well what she needed but by fearing that she would be too demanding, she hesitated for a short instant.

With a grin, Bert insisted, “Ask anything you’d like, m’ lady. If I can, I’ll provide.”

Smiling in response, Sansa finally answered, “Asked so nicely, it would be a crime to refuse.” Timidly, she added. “I feel like it’s been ages since I last had the chance to clean myself. Could you… heat some water for me?”

“Why, of course, m’lady. If you’d like, I could also clean your clothes.”

“Oh, thank you Bert,” Sansa exclaimed with immense gratitude.

“It’s my pleasure to help you, m’lady,” Bert said with a slight bow. “Stay here while I take care of this. It shouldn’t be too long.”

“Thank you, Bert,” Sansa repeated as she watched the woman duck and push aside the old pieces of leather that served as a door for the hut.

 _I can’t believe that I’ll finally be rid of all that dirt that covers me, body and clothes! It was almost like a filthy second skin even though I am accustomed to it by now,_ she mused with relief as she let herself fall lazily over her bedroll.

 As she was shutting her eyes and letting her body relax, Sansa suddenly heard a low grunt from outside the hut. “Sansa,” the Hound called.

“What is it, my lord?” she asked coldly.

The man sighed loudly but surprisingly didn’t complain at being called a lord. “I’d like to talk to you.”

Biting her lip for an instant, Sansa didn’t move from her place for about a minute before she decided she might as well go. She couldn’t hide forever after all. Sandor Clegane was waiting for her near the hut and as she approached him, he moved back and led her further into the shadow of a tall tree.

“What is it, my lord?” Sansa asked once they were far enough, looking anywhere but in his direction.

Sighing again, he muttered roughly, “Seven hells, Sansa, I already told you: don’t call me _my lord_.” Pausing to stare her down resentfully, the man added, “Anyhow, _you_ ’ _ve_ won. All you have left to do is to tell me what you want from me.”  When he saw that she would not reply, the Hound continued. “You want an apology, is that it? Fine then. I’m sorry.” His tone was anything but apologetic, in fact it was almost threatening but Sansa nevertheless felt her lips curl into a small smile.

“You’re not sorry for your terrible behavior towards those poor people! The only thing that you regret is that I won’t talk to you anymore!” she exclaimed, amusement overcoming her against her will.

The Hound snorted at her remark. “You got that right. I don’t give a rat’s arse about those stinking smallfolk, but I’ll try not to _mistreat_ them too much if it makes you happy.”

Well, that was certainly as close as she could ever hope to get to a proper apology from the Hound, she conceded. To be truthful, it was already a miracle that she had gotten that close with such a coarse beast. _Are my kisses really that good that_ _they can drive a man such as Sandor Clegane to act so far against his nature?_ Sansa wondered with amazement as a satisfied smile parted her lips.

“So, by that smile I reckon we’re good now. Am I right?” the Hound asked as he caressed her cheek.

Sansa nodded, her smile now a broad grin. “I’d better go back to my hut before Bert comes back,” she said softly as she abruptly fled from him again.

“As you wish, little bird,” the man rasped flatly as he watched her move away from him.

His muscles were taut as if he was resisting an urge to follow her but he stayed in place and when Sansa got to the hut’s door and twisted around to gaze at him one last time, he was still deep in the shadows.

“Good night… Sandor,” she said shyly, before swiftly ducking and disappearing into the hut, leaving him alone in the cold of the night.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello everyone! New chapter! :)**

**As always I’d like to thank everyone who takes the time to read this and comment, as well as my beta wildsky_sheri for her constant help.**

**Sandor**

Sandor was already wide awake when the sun finally rose from its sleep. The poxy little _village_ in which the little bird and he had spent the night was slowly coming alive with cooking noises and children’s cries but no sound was coming from the girl’s hut yet. Sandor had no cause to worry though; his back had stayed glued against the small habitation’s outer wall from dusk to dawn and he hadn’t let anyone enter apart from the ugly wench who lived in it and her two children. No one had so much as dared to gaze in its direction all through the night. _The girl is tired and it’s no wonder; she’s not used to travelling that much._ It wasn’t such a bad thing that they had come across this village after all, Sandor grudgingly admitted to himself. Crummy as it may be, it still had put a roof over the little bird’s head and filled her belly with proper food for once. The fresh meat had been a more than welcome change for both of them from the dry beef and stale bread that they were now sadly accustomed to. _These buggering peasants know how to hunt and poach,_ Sandor mused with a hint of surprise as he shifted in his position, the hut creaking too loudly as he did so. _They’re lucky the region’s noblemen have their backs turned on them, busy as they are with their little war._ It was far from rare that recidivist poachers would get their heads chopped off and the _good_ lords that ordered those executions didn’t give a shit whether they were ridding the realm of seasoned brigands or depriving hapless children of their fathers. Whatever the motives behind the wretched bastards’ actions, the end result would _always_ be the same.

 

To the little bird’s displeasure, Sandor had alerted the villagers to the risks that they were rashly taking – he had done them a favour really, but the girl had read his words of warning as _buggering_ threats. _Threats_ , he repeated to himself in an incredulous sneer. _The girl has no fucking idea what threats sound like when coming from me,_ he decided, almost insulted by his charge’s lack of acuity in that matter. Anyhow, denouncing these sorry people to Tywin Lannister would be the _apex_ of stupidity coming from him, given that his ancient liege lord had perhaps already put a price on his head if word _of the_ Hound’s desertionhad reached his ears. _How will the old lion react when he hears about this? The previously so-faithful dog, abandoning the cub and fleeing with the wolf,_ Sandor wondered as amusement seeped into his usual gloom but his smirk was quick to sour.He was not truly fleeing with the wolf. _More like escorting her back to her pack,_ he reflected bitterly. He had gone through all this trouble but in the end, the outcome would be the same fucking one that the Lannisters had planned all along: the girl would slip through his fingers and he’d have to watch from afar as she rejoined her family and regained her life on the same occasion. _What’s left of mine though?_ he pondered grimly. By his recent actions, Sandor had become an outlaw and his future was far from assured; all he knew for certain was that he would need to disappear from the surface of this damned continent as soon as possible.

 

 _This has been bloody madness all along,_ Sandor admitted to himself for the hundredth time while letting a short mirthless laugh escape his mouth as he crouched further against the hut. He’d been a fool to abandon the Lannister boy with the thugs. In the heat of the moment, he had been blinded by the overpowering urge to put the girl over his shoulder and flee as far as he could from all those buggers he despised so much. He had had enough of them all – whiny boy and bloody false _righter of wrong_ equally. His lone goal had been to recover what had been stolen from him and to protect his charge as he had promised himself he would no matter the price to pay. Naught had mattered to him in those numbed hours; the gold that he had amassed throughout the years and left in the capital, the comfortable existence that he was leading and the enviable status that he had merited with his hard work and devotion, he had pissed on it all. The girl was worth much more than all of those trivialities – that’s what he had figured just then - but Sandor had overlooked one extremely crucial detail: Sansa Stark wasn’t his, she was only on loan. It was laughable. For a mere loan, no matter how alluring it was, Sandor had forfeited his whole life. _Crazy buggering halfwit dog you are,_ he muttered to himself with building scorn over his own senselessness. _All this for the pretty eyes of a maiden who doesn’t give a rat’s arse about you._

Or did she?

 

Well, he was not foolish enough to believe that the little bird truly cared for him more than she did for a fine dress or a little pet but the level of her interest in him didn’t truly matter in the end. The fact was that the girl was growing increasingly more at ease in his company and generous with him, offering him coy smiles and soft kisses as if he was a regular _buggering suitor_. Sandor snorted at the absurdity of it. He would never be the one to remind her that he was in truth the exact antitheses of a regular suitor. _Better to train with the rabid hound you’ll soon be rid of and never see again than with the valorous knight you’ll want to impress when the time comes,_ Sandor concluded sardonically. He had witnessed Cersei as she practiced her seductions with squires when Jaime was out of town. Maidens did these things, only Sansa had not chosen her prey very wisely since Sandor was no green boy and no one would be there to stop him if he lost his control with her. She was like a kitten learning to hunt with a rat twice its size, or even better, a tiny, defenseless bird trying to overpower a vicious, hulking hound. The image was so utterly adequate that Sandor couldn’t hold back a wry and hoarse laugh from reverberating through his throat as he tried to picture the scene it would make. Head thrown back with eyes shut and mouth twisted in an ugly grin, Sandor abandoned himself to his mirth for a short instant, but then his jaw set tight and his eyes abruptly opened as he realised how things truly stood.

 

The bird wasn’t as helpless as she appeared.  In fact, she was even doing a pretty good job subduing the hound, judging by the way that Sandor had crawled at her feet the previous night, begging for her pardon like the worst pitiable bloody wreck he had ever heard of. _She’ll do whatever she wants with you in the end, dog,_ he realised, a pang of dread stabbing him viciously as the burned corner of his mouth unconsciously twitched. How had he ever become so weak? It wasn’t like him to lose his ordinarily imperturbable composure for the sake of something so evident, predictable and common. _Women’s power_ , he mused with contempt as he distractedly stroked the burned side of his face with his hand. It was humiliating and even slightly infuriating to be so like all those bastards that he had witnessed and judged so severely over the years for yielding to pairs of teats as if to mighty gods. Even worse, Sandor had already almost surrendered completely to the girl but he had not even so much as touched those damned teats! Seven hells, he was pathetic. It was plain as that.

 

Sighing in anger at himself, Sandor briskly rose from the wall of the hut and headed toward the woods. He badly needed to get a change of air and to take a piss; he could also go see how Stranger was faring and perhaps this short walk would help him clear his head. The girl was safe in the hut anyway, he didn’t need to stay at his post and guard her; for all he knew, she might not even notice his absence.  

 

When he got to the wooden structure where Stranger was stabled, Sandor’s temper hadn’t improved but at least he felt a little less numbed and was now eager to leave that damned mockery of a village behind him. The dark stallion had scared off the peasants’ mules; the stupid beasts were grouped as far as they could get from the fierce horse who had seemingly not even noticed them. The sight drew a smirk from Sandor; he and the stallion were much alike, he realised not for the first time with a certain level of pride. As he strolled back to the little bird’s hut, determined to wake her up immediately so that they might decamp from this twice-damned shithole, Sandor got some cautious salutations from the smallfolk to which he only grunted but when he finally reached the girl’s hut and saw that its door was wide open, the man suddenly grew suspicious of all these strangers.

 

“Sansa? You’re there?” he rasped, but got no answer.

 

Hastily, Sandor turned around and scanned his surroundings. His gaze fell on a skinny woman that was busy bathing a child a few yards from where he was; he narrowed his eyes at her and whistled for her attention.

 

 “You, there!” he then yelled at her. “Where’s the _lady_?”

 

“I don’t know, m’lord. I only just got out of my hut.”

 

Mouth twitching, the man cocked his head and scowled at her. _I leave the girl for a mere moment and she vanishes almost instantly._ “Bugger that. Where is she?” he hissed as he approached the woman.

 

The wench’s eyes widened in panic and she clutched her sodden toddler against her breasts. “I’m not lying, m’lord! I truly have no clue!”

 

“She’s at the creek with Bert, m’lord!” another woman cried out from behind her hut.

 

Without a word, Sandor gave the wenches a barely noticeable nod and stalked away from them, striding immediately toward the stream. As he neared the water, he heard the little bird’s soft laughter ripple through the air. At the sound, he slowed his pace and relaxed. _Pathetic dog, those smallfolk are more harmless than the bloody goat they roasted for us yesterday. They would never do the girl any harm, especially with the likes of you looming over their heads._

 

“Thank you again for everything, Bert,” the little bird’s voice resounded again, this time louder as Sandor neared the creek.

 

Curiosity getting the better of him, the man became careful with his steps and kept his eyes wide open as he noiselessly tried to find the girl’s exact position.  It wouldn’t hurt to stay hidden for an instant and eavesdrop on her conversation with that wench she was with, he figured. They weren’t very far; it took him only a couple of seconds to locate them. Thick bushes separated him from the creek but between their branches, Sandor could now discern both women’s shapes; they were sitting side by side on a dead tree not far from the water, their hands busily mending what appeared to be old garments.

 

“It’s nothing, m’lady,” the peasant woman was replying as Sandor pricked up his ears. “It’s an honour to serve a daughter of Winterfell and if there is anything else we could do to help you further…” the woman trailed off, her voice filled with insinuation as she uttered her last words.

 

“No, I’m perfectly fine, Bert,” the little bird answered sweetly while smiling at the wench.

 

“Are you certain, m’lady?” the woman hesitantly asked, her face suddenly taut and serious. “That _Hound_ you’re with,” she added in a whisper. “Does he… I saw him yesterday with you, he-”

 

Clearly ill at ease, the girl flinched and breathed in. Her cheeks were aflame as she hurriedly interrupted the woman, “Oh, that was nothing, Bert! I… Don’t worry for me, I’m perfectly fine,” she insisted as she timidly lowered her gaze to her hands.

 

“Lady Sansa, you don’t have to lie to me. We may be poor folk but we’re brave people nonetheless and we’ll help you if need be,” the wench affirmed insistently while settling her hands on the little bird’s in a reassuring, motherly fashion.

 

Snorting in annoyance, Sandor pushed the branches aside and swiftly strode toward the two women. _You’d best intervene before the girl changes her mind and decides she’d rather be rid you_ , he reflected as he joined them at the creek’s bed. “The lady’s perfectly fine with me, wench,” he snapped at the woman who jerked her head up to glance at him with consternation. “Now, bugger off, will you?”

 

At seeing him appear so suddenly, the little bird jumped and her lips parted in surprise but she quickly shut her mouth and frowned at him instead, obviously displeased by his attitude.

 

Sighing, Sandor reluctantly turned his head toward the peasant woman again. “If it _pleases_ you, of course,” he added with poorly concealed irritation, jaw clenching. _You’re really losing it, dog._

With a look of concern, the wench turned her gaze on the little bird in a wordless inquiry to which the girl replied with a tight smile and a small nod. The woman took her time standing up, as if she didn’t believe the girl’s response to be genuine. Impatiently, Sandor followed the woman with a glare as she unenthusiastically left them by themselves but he was quick to lay his eyes back on his charge when the bloody _intruder_ was at last gone from his view. As elegantly as if she was having tea with the queen, the little bird was demurely sitting on the dead tree and her loose auburn hair was gleaming in the sunlight in many shades of red and crimson. Her cheeks were flushed a beautiful shade of pink as she shyly raised her stunning blue eyes to him and smiled.

 

It took a moment for Sandor to find his words. “They want me far from you, little bird,” was all that came to him.

 

Timidly, the girl whispered in an apologetic tone, “Bert only wants to help me.”

 

Grunting, Sandor considered the evidence. “Of course. Who wouldn’t?” he acquiesced, as he stepped toward her. In a trail that his hands had longed to follow for a very long time, the man unconsciously let his eyes rove over the girl’s curves. Only then did he realise that instead of the grey wool dress that he had become accustomed to, the little bird had draped her body in an old brown roughspun gown. “Where’s your dress, Sansa? This one’s little more than a rag,” he rasped pryingly.

 

“It’s drying on a tree, just there,” the girl replied while pointing at her regular dress, which was hooked on a branch a few feet from them. “Bert cleaned it for me and lent me this one instead.”

 

“Is it dry yet?” Sandor inquired roughly, his face darkening as he could already guess the answer he would get.

 

“Of course not! She only just cleaned it,” the little bird exclaimed. Not blind to Sandor’s building irritation, the girl lost her smile as she added in a murmur, “We’ll have to wait here until it is.”

 

Eyes narrowed at her, Sandor hissed in disgust, “Wait here? For how long?” With a sigh, he shook his head in a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Weren’t you supposed to be eager to meet with your family again, little bird? We’ll never make it in time for the exchange if we linger every time you feel like it.”

 

Her eyes wide and sad, the little bird rose from her seat. “We’ll be in time!” she cried out. “If not, my brother and mother will surely wait for me. But understand, please, I only have one dress, I _had_ to clean it! Don’t be mad at me…” she pleaded, her gaze imploring as she stared up at him while laying a delicate hand over his upper arm.

 

In an instinctive gesture, Sandor possessively caught it between his fingers. “I’m not mad,” he lied, as he grasped her by the waist with his free hand.

 

The little bird gave no resistance and leaned into his touch while offering him a relieved smile. It was still fucking hard for Sandor to believe that such a goddess would willingly let him hold her and so he tightened his grip on her and pressed her further against him as if to make sure that she was no illusion.

 

“I’m glad we came across this place, I also got to bathe last night,” the girl added happily after a moment as she raised her free hand to rest against Sandor’s torso. “Perhaps you could use this time to do the same-”

 

“Are you trying to send me a message, Sansa?” the man growled with a hint of amusement.

 

A shred of horror instantly covered the girl’s dainty features as she heard his assumption. “No! Of course not! I was only thinking that you might want to make this spare time useful.”

 

Staring down at her, Sandor couldn’t hold back the sniggers that shook him as he drunk in the sight of her delightful embarrassment. _She’s not wrong, of course. It’s a miracle she still lets me touch her with that stench that I carry with me._ They would both have to live would his stench for a bit longer though.

 

“I’m not taking off my armour with these strangers surrounding us, nor am I leaving you alone or unguarded. We’ll be reaching a tributary of the Red Fork very soon; I’ll clean up then.”

 

“As you wish, Sandor,” the girl whispered while untangling herself from his grasp and reclaiming her place on the dead tree.

 

Irked by her abrupt flight from his arms but also queerly transfixed by her natural grace, Sandor studied the little bird for some time as she resumed her mending. She was keeping her eyes dutifully lowered on her work but her grin betrayed the attention that she was truly giving him. With a smirk, Sandor sat next to her and lazily stretched his long legs in front of him, throwing his head back to stare at the greyish sky as he did so. After a moment, he tilted his head and gazed at the little bird, narrowing his eyes at her. “What are you doing? Did that wench put you to work, or what?” he asked with disdain.

 

Furtively glancing at him, the girl replied in a melodious tone, “I’m helping. It’s only natural, don’t you think?”

 

“Want to know what I truly think, little bird? I think you’re too generous…” Sandor rasped under his breath as he snaked an arm around the little bird’s shoulders and curled his free hand around her waist. “But I won’t complain,” he added in her ear as he buried his face in the crook of the girl’s neck and lightly bit the silky skin there, eliciting a barely audible moan from her. _Even in the middle of these buggering woods, she smells as sweet as she did in King’s Landing,_ Sandor mused, his mind clouded by desire and his cock stiffening dangerously as he lifted his head and went searching for her mouth. Her plump lips were smooth and docile under his and they willingly parted as his tongue met them. In a heartbeat he had claimed her mouth as his; if not her body, at least she was freely giving him her lips and tongue. A throaty groan escaped him as he left her mouth to breathe in but just as he was about to nibble her bottom lip, the little bird gently pushed her slender hands against his breastplate and jerked her head back.

 

“We had better stop. What if they see us?” she whispered worriedly as she glanced around them.

 

 “So what?” Sandor replied as he jealously clasped the girl’s waist, pressing her further against him as he went to kiss her again.

 

At the last instant, the little bird managed to avoid his lips before she vainly tried to recoil from him but Sandor didn’t give her a chance and only tightened his grip on her. “Please, let me go,” she finally uttered. “I’d hate for them to catch us like that again.”

 

For a moment, Sandor didn’t react and only glared down at her but then he reluctantly loosened his hold and freed her. _See how she controls you, dog? Soon, she’ll have you jumping and sitting on cue,_ he thought, angry at himself for letting her go when she had obviously enjoyed herself before she remembered those _stinking_ peasants. Would she truly have minded if he had kept her in his arms by force? He doubted it. _I’d best get used to losing her though; soon she’ll be fleeing from me forever,_ he thought with a pang of apprehension.

 

Although… what if he didn’t bring her back to her family? Deep in the wild as they were, the girl would _never_ notice if they switched direction and headed toward Saltpans instead. From there, they could board a ship for the free cities and the little bird might even believe him if he told her that it was heading for Riverrun. She wouldn’t know until it was too bloody late and then she’d have no choice but to accept being his completely.

 

His heart suddenly beating faster, Sandor considered this new tempting plan for a few minutes but his hopes quickly dissolved as he discerned its primary flaw. He wanted the girl and had desired her for longer than he dared say, that was true enough but if he had ever had any design of forcing himself on her, he could have done it a hundred times since they stepped out on the road together and she’d have had no chance against him. Not a soul would have heard her cries for help, deep in the woods as they would’ve been at that moment. Gods, he could have easily taken her maidenhead against her will back in King’s Landing and he wagered the poor girl would have kept their shameful, dirty little secret to herself. No, what he was so eager to steal and claim for himself wasn’t only the little bird’s physique but also the smiles that she was giving him so plentifully as of late. He yearned to keep her _exactly_ as she had acted with him for the last couple of days, not as she would become once she’d be his captive for real and he her tormentor. He could never bear to see her cry, to discern hate in her eyes as she looked at him and he couldn’t rape her either. Or could he?  It would be tempting to take her by force after she refused him, of course, but once the deed was done he’d have killed everything that attracted him to her and put out for good the dim spark of respect that he still had for himself.

 

No, he couldn’t abduct her; there would be naught to gain from it apart from more misery to bear on his shoulders. In the end, Sandor had to concede to himself that he had but one viable option; to lead the little bird back to her family and afterward, to cross the narrow sea and start a new life in the free cities. There was no denying though, that he would come off that ship a changed man, and not for the better. He could feel it already, deep in his core - that damned void that _bloody Sansa Stark_ was slowly creating in him, that empty, dark hole that she would leave behind once she’d rejoined her kin. She would leave him dried out from the inside and burning with unfulfilled lust, lost in emptiness for the rest of eternity and there was naught to do about that fate. _What am I thinking again? Lost in_ _emptiness? For the rest of eternity? This is beyond ridiculous. Dog, you’ve reached a new peak, a desolating, pathetic new peak,_ he reflected wryly as a humourless laugh uncontrollably escaped him. At the sound, the girl raised her gaze from her work and turned curious eyes on him.

 

“What are you laughing at, Sandor?” she asked softly.

 

“Nothing, little bird, nothing at all,” he whispered as he lifted a heavy hand and caressed the girl’s jaw with his knuckle.

 

He had never been more truthful, he realised. He was veritably laughing at nothing, at the nothingness that she would leave behind when she flew away from him. The thought made him snigger even harder and the little bird obliviously joined him in his mirth, and although her laughter was genuine and devoid of any trace of nastiness, Sandor couldn’t help but feel as if she was truly mocking him and laughing in advance at the pitiable state in which she would soon abandon him.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I know! It’s been sooo long since I last updated but I have the best excuse since I’ve been in Scotland for an almost 2 weeks trip and only came back a week ago.   
> By the way if anyone wants to know, the trip has been wonderful! *grins*
> 
> As always, I’d like to thank everyone for reading and commenting.  
> Also, special thanks to wildsky_sheri for her help with this!

**Sansa**

 

 

“Finally,” Sansa breathed to herself when she clutched her dress and felt the long-hoped-for dry wool against her fingers. _All set and ready to go and it’s not even midday!_ she mused happily, her eyes set in a squint while she glanced gratefully toward the sun.

 

Earlier that morning, worry that she and Sandor would need to postpone their departure as the latter had kept repeating since daybreak had filled her mind but the gods had answered her prayers and proved him wrong. Indeed barely two hours ago, a swift and unexpected blast had chased away the thick grey clouds that had hovered overhead since dawn and revealed a striking blue sky instead. Under the warm sunbeams, Sansa’s old gown had dried faster than she would have believed possible and there was now naught left to do but for her to change before they left the village. Although she was thankful for the peasants’ generosity, Sansa had no real desire to linger in these woods - she was as eager as Sandor to put this valley behind her and thus she lost no time grabbing her dress and hurried immediately to Bert’s hut.

 

“I’ll help you with your gown,” the woman cried out as she followed in Sansa’s steps. Once inside the hut, Bert’s true motivation was quick to show through. In fact the woman didn’t even bother with subtlety and went straight to the point. “It’s not too late, m’lady. I told you this morning: we can help you,” she insisted in a whisper, her hands busy lacing the back of Sansa’s dress.

 

“Don’t worry for me, Bert. I’m perfectly fine. Sandor Clegane is bringing me back to my family and with no one else would I feel as safe as with him,” Sansa retorted - perhaps a little too stiffly, she realised - as she forced herself to smile.

 

Bert’s hands tensed against Sansa’s back as she heard the young girl’s words. The woman was obviously not convinced.

 

“A maiden shouldn’t be left alone with such a man,” she asserted severely while she fastened the ends of the laces with a bit more strength than was truly necessary.

 

There was no use in trying to explain her situation further, Sansa pondered, and so as soon as all the laces of her gown were properly fixed, she kissed the woman’s cheek and flew away from her. Clearly, Bert had deduced that the embrace she had interrupted the previous day had been forced on Sansa but really, who could blame her for mistaking? _Barely a moon ago, I undoubtedly would have believed the same had I seen another young maiden nestled in the Hound’s arms,_ she reflected pensively. Who wouldn’t have believed so in truth? Even Sansa herself was at a loss when she tried to grasp what could possibly draw her to Sandor Clegane. He was a coarse brute, a killer with terrible manners and on the top of all that, his face was burned in the most terrifying fashion. None of those traits should ever logically appeal to her… but logic apparently had no power where emotion was concerned. While her mind kept insisting anytime they were apart that she should be repulsed by the man, an unknown and mighty force that took root deep inside her propelled her toward him the minute he was in her sight. _How can one’s self be so divided?_ she wondered, adrift in a sea of her own conflicting feelings.

 

The question still hung unanswered in the back of her mind when Sansa reached the edge of the forest where the Hound had told her to join him. Dark and imposing, the man stood next to Stranger, a bored scowl twisting his face while he ignored the villagers that nervously bade him farewell. As if she was a magnet to his steely eyes, Sandor jerked his head and glanced at Sansa as soon as she stepped into view, his features softening a bit when he recognised her.

 

“You’re ready?” he asked as he unceremoniously made his way through the smallfolk that stood between them.

 

Blushing, Sansa nodded, a shy smile uncontrollably curling her lips. His mere presence was enough to disconcert her, she realised again. Menacing as the Hound could appear, she had always been timid in his presence but this new nervousness that shook her core was as utterly different as it was peculiarly… pleasant. _Even intoxicating, like a good wine,_ she decided as she distractedly settled a delicate hand over the fluttering that assailed her belly.

 

“Let’s go then,” the tall man rasped as he pressed his palm over Sansa’s shoulder blade and turned around to guide her.

 

As they walked to the horse, the smallfolk all gave way for them, deferentially bowing while giving Sansa their best wishes. The young girl smiled back at them and had not yet finished thanking them for their hospitality when, without warning, Sandor grabbed her by the waist and lifted her from the ground. Her eyes grew wide and she lost her composure for an instant but Sansa quickly regained her smile and started waving at the group of peasants while Sandor jumped on the stallion behind her.

 

“My thanks to all of you once again! I’ll pray for your well-being when I next visit a sept and put in a word on your behalf to my family,” Sansa promised as Stranger began to move.

 

A look of concern on her face, Bert appeared right in the middle of the group of peasants just then. Sansa smiled at the woman and was about to lift her hand to salute her when Sandor kicked his stallion with his heels, the beast abruptly turning around and hastening away from the villagers. Head turned backward, Sansa watched as their shapes grew smaller and smaller, until they had vanished completely from her view. _I’ll never see them again,_ she reflected, not truly moved by the observation; they would only become memories to join with the mist of a thousand others.

 

In a comfortable silence, they rode down a regular slope for a couple of hours, sometimes needing to zigzag when it became too abrupt. The scenery was changing rapidly and Sansa had no doubt that at the pace they were travelling, they would soon reach the valley Sandor had mentioned earlier. _Down the hill, a tributary of the Red Fork runs. We’re truly nearing the Riverlands,_ she realised, not quite as happily as she would have expected. Shaking her head to dismiss the unsettling thought, Sansa peered at the pure blue sky above her and breathed in. Warm and caressing, the sun was more reminiscent of summer than autumn – really, it was a glorious day to be on the road and thus Sansa decided that there was no reason to let anything preoccupy her. Lazily, she leaned against her companion’s breastplate and shut her eyes. Between the warmth of the sunbeams that glowed over her face and the reassuring solidity of the man behind her, she felt as if no ill could ever prevail against her. She couldn’t hold back her wide grin when after a few minutes of contentment, she twisted in the saddle and glanced up at Sandor.  The man immediately lowered his eyes to her and Sansa distractedly let herself get lost in them. They were dark, strong and rough, something harsh and intractable shining in them. She couldn’t help but wonder what they had witnessed over the years, how they perceived the world… how they saw her. Always, they seemed to desperately search for her as if she was all they cared to see and Sansa felt as if she would never tire of the insistent attention they were giving her.

 

Sighing, she twisted back but leaned even further into Sandor while clasping one of the arms that flanked her in a loose and dreamy embrace. Tenderly, she rested her head against the thick arm she held while gazing at her companion’s hands as he transferred both reins into one. The newly freed hand then gradually - almost hesitantly - made its way to her before curling over her stomach in a slow caress. The gesture was so intimate, soft and strong at the same time that Sansa instantly felt as if a legion of butterflies had filled her belly. She bit her lip, overwhelmed by the unanticipated sensation and let a hand fall from the arm she was holding, laying it over the hand that stroked her instead. Carefully, she brushed her fingers over his before resting her palm over his knuckles.

 

“Little bird,” Sandor muttered hoarsely as he tightened his grip on her. She could feel his gaze boring into her and his breath in her hair.

 

Never in her life had Sansa felt so lighthearted and giddy at the same time, it was a strange mix of feelings, delightful and confusing in equal parts. Nevertheless, she let her instincts take charge and arched against her cohort, throwing her head back as she shut her eyes in abandon. She might have stayed like that forever if Sandor’s warm hand hadn’t suddenly slid away from her. Puzzled, Sansa turned around and inquisitively glanced up at him.

 

“I’m losing my focus, little bird,” he said in a soft but flat rasp while raising his gaze to the horizon. “I’ve got to keep my attention on the land before us or else we’ll end up down a buggering precipice or something,” he explained, the unburned corner of his mouth curling into something akin to a half-smile.

 

Slightly disappointed, Sansa nonetheless found his argument valid and nodded. It wouldn’t do to die so stupidly and they could always kiss and enjoy each other’s touch later. Resigned, she moved forward in the saddle but she quickly missed Sandor’s warmth. As discreetly as she could, she slowly propped her body against his torso, hoping that as careful as she had been, her touch would pass unnoticed against the roughness of his amour and that he therefore wouldn’t realise she was resting against him once again.

 

****

 

 _It’s so pretty_ , Sansa reflected as she admired the light gleaming over the large river they were approaching. The mountains were definitely behind them now, although the shadowy blue shape of a smaller range of hills was visible in the distant horizon before them.

 

“The water of this river comes from the mountains we’ve crossed. Eventually, it’ll join the Red Fork,” Sandor was explaining to Sansa. “I’d wager it’s almost as cold as the bloody glacier it used to be, especially in this season,” he added with a certain level of derision as Stranger began stepping into the crystalline water.

 

The stallion didn’t appear to mind the cold however and they entered the river with no difficulty. The level of the water was not very high for it was autumn; it barely touched the tips of Sansa’s feet in its deepest part and for that the young girl was grateful. Once they reached the other bank, Sandor jumped from Stranger’s back and helped her down.

 

“I hope you won’t mind if we halt here an hour or two so that I can clean up a little. As soon as I’m done though, we’ll continue and ride until it’s _pitch_ dark. We’ve lost enough time already,” the man rasped nonchalantly as he freed his horse from its saddle.

 

Biting her lip, Sansa glanced around her in disappointment. Before Sandor had spoken, she had hoped that they might make camp next to the river bed. The place was beautiful with the long herbs and thick moss that covered its soil; even tall daisies of yellow and white thrived not far from the bank. _Flowers in autumn?_ Sansa thought with amazement. “I’d prefer if we stayed here for the night,” she admitted after a moment. “I could lay my bedroll on the moss and sleep more comfortably than last night,” she continued with enthusiasm while approaching Sandor. “Oh, and I could also braid a crown with the flowers there,” she added in a soft whisper, blushing at her own childishness while pointing at the daisies.

 

Sandor snorted in surprise when he heard her intention and gave her a puzzled, amused look but then he narrowed his eyes at her with suspicion, features hardening. “Let me get this straight, girl. You want to delay that _buggering_ exchange you’ve been waiting for ever since the day your father was killed, only to braid a _stupid_ crown of flowers?” he asked with a mix of irritation and scepticism as he closed the gap that remained between them.

 

At the mention of her father, Sansa tensed slightly and lowered her eyes but she replied nonetheless. “Not just for that.  As I told you, I’d like to sleep on the moss… and also…” she let the words hang, not knowing exactly what else she wanted herself. “My mother and brother will wait for us,” she finally pleaded after an instant as she gazed up at Sandor. “Please, let’s stay here for the night.”

 

Mouth twitching slightly, the man studied Sansa at length for a time, as if by assimilating every detail of her physique he could figure out her thoughts. A minute passed, silent and awkward but then he shook his head incredulously. “As you say, little bird,” he grunted as he turned around and strolled toward the edge of the forest. There, he found an oak tree and hooked his cloak over one of its branches. “We’ll stay here for the night if that’s what you want,” he said without enthusiasm as he returned to Sansa.

 

“Thank you, Sandor,” she murmured before getting on tiptoe and kissing his jaw.

 

With a sigh, the man raised his hands and settled both of them over her shoulders. Wordlessly, he gazed down at her as if she was the weirdest creature he had ever come across throughout his whole life but then he relaxed and a hint of a smile curled his lips. Slowly he raised one of his hands and caressed Sansa’s hair.

 

“I’ll go bathe while the sun’s still warm. Do you mind waiting here on your own?” Sandor muttered, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

 

Shaking her head, Sansa lifted her hand and distractedly followed the joints of his breastplate with the tips of her fingers. “I could help you take off your armour if you’d like,” she said without thinking.

 

Instantly, Sandor took a step back and stared at her with an expression of mirth and shock all at once. “You would take off my armour,” he stated more than he asked before he snorted a brief, hoarse laugh. “What would that bloody septa of yours have thought of that, I wonder?” A mocking grin twisted his face as he uttered his last sentence.

 

Flushed, Sansa lowered embarrassed eyes to her hands. “I only wanted to help you… I didn’t think-”

 

“Of course you didn’t,” Sandor cut her off before barking another short, rough laugh.

Smirking, he lifted her chin with his fingers and his eyes bore into hers. “I’ve half a mind to let you do it. Only if I did, you’d most likely faint from the stench that’ll come out of that damned armour,” he sneered, voice husky and low, before heading away from her toward the oak tree where his cloak was hooked. “I’ll do it myself,” he stated as he reached for a buckle over his shoulder.

 

One by one, the Hound undid all of the straps that tied the steel plates to his body, the large pieces falling rhythmically to the ground in a metallic cacophony as he did so. The tunic he wore underneath was so stained with dirt and sweat that it clung to his torso like a second skin and although Sansa knew she should’ve been repulsed by the filthy sigh he offered, she found she was strangely intrigued and fascinated instead.  _He’s so muscled_ , she noted, albeit it was far from the first occasion she’d seen him without armour. She wondered for an instant why her eyes should be drawn so much to something she had previously seen dozens of times and never gave a second thought to. Perhaps it was because she now had the possibility, if the desire took her, to let her hands wander over the man’s massive chest, arms and even down his sculpted stomach. _Why would I want to do such things?_ she thought to herself, appalled as she suddenly regained her composure and stared elsewhere.

 

“I’m leaving you but I won’t take long,” she heard him rasp after some time.

 

Alerted by his voice, Sansa turned her gaze on him again. He was standing only a few yards from her - waiting for an answer - and she had to use all of her willpower not to stare again. At a loss for words, she only gave him a shy nod.

 

Once he had disappeared behind a layer of trees, Sansa strolled toward the river. It was nice to have some free time for once, she decided. She should use it to relax and let her head void itself of anything but it was impossible for her mind kept going back to Sandor Clegane and the way her life and heart had both been turned upside down for the last few days. _Does he think the same of me?_ she wondered curiously while nearing the river.

 

The water was pure and calm, so still that by bowing her head and peering down, Sansa could discern her reflection almost as clearly as in any regular glass. She smiled at herself, pleased with the image she was getting.

 

His name came to her again. “Sandor,” she whispered softly as she rose.

_He loves me… I think. That’s why I kissed him._ For a second, she grinned at the memory but then a sigh escaped her lips. She would never know for sure if the Hound loved her for he was not a man to share his feelings. He’d never tell her. Her heart ached almost painfully at the thought and she was taken aback by the violence of her reaction. _Why should I care? It’s not like he was to be my husband. He’s only my escort and very soon we’ll be parting anyway,_ she ineffectively tried to reason with herself.

 

The pang that throbbed in her chest was nothing she cared to linger upon and thus Sansa tried to take her mind from anything that could trouble her further. She had no reason to be unhappy at that very moment, she decided. Her surroundings were beautiful and the sun was so warm. _Even hot,_ she realised as she took off her cloak and settled it over a large boulder. Stretching, she sat over it and gazed at the river. _Is it really as cold as Sandor said it was?_ There was only one way of finding out, she concluded with a sudden wolfish smile as she hurriedly unlaced her boots and removed her long woollen stockings. Timidly, she stepped toward the river, careful not to hurt her feet over the pebbles. She stopped only when her toes were almost touching the water and breathed in as nervously as if she was about to face a life-threatening danger. Then, as abruptly as she could, she jumped with both feet into the stream with a scream of both horror and delight. The water was beyond freezing; Sansa could have sworn it was liquid ice that flowed around her ankles. Wasting no time, she stepped out of the river only to realise that the hem of her dress was now all soaked but she only giggled at her own foolishness. Revived and energised by the shock she had just been through, Sansa began strolling about happily with no purpose until she got a glimpse of something colourful out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Oh, the daisies!”she exclaimed to herself as she glanced at the flowers. _I had almost forgotten about them,_ the young girl mused as she hurried toward them, losing no time picking the prettiest ones.

 

In a matter of minutes, her crown was braided and Sansa quickly installed it over her head, a wide grin curving her lips. _Here in this uninhabited valley, I could be the Queen,_ she decided. _I would reign over plants and beasts equally and treat them justly, as any true ruler should._ The silliness of her thoughts made her giggle again. If she were queen in this vale, would the Hound be her king? The idea was plain _ridiculous_ and so she laughed heartily. _Will he find me beautiful with flowers in my hair?_ she wondered, although she could easily guess the answer. One last daisy in her hand, Sansa absent-mindedly gazed at it for a time until of their own accord, her fingers began removing the flower’s petals.

 

The litany came to her almost instinctively. “He loves me,” she softly whispered, watching the first petal whirl down. “He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not,” she continued, pausing between each petal, watching as they lightly touched the ground. “He loves me…” she breathed one last time before she heard the creaks of crushed branches from behind her. Gasping, she turned around and let the flower fall from her hand.

 

“What are you doing?” Sandor asked from where he stood, at least thirty feet from her.

 

“Nothing,” she replied, a blush creeping over her cheeks.

 

The Hound’s hair was wet and plastered over his head and cheeks and droplets of water still rolled down his neck, finding their way through the dark hair of his chest where the clean but partly sodden tunic he wore was open. For one short moment, Sansa was rooted in place.

 

“I heard you scream. What happened?” he rasped as he slowly walked in her direction.

 

“I… I wanted to try the water.  It’s freezing,” she explained. “See how I soaked my dress?” she asked as she slightly lifted her skirts to show him the sodden hem.

 

Sandor’s eyes lowered to the hem of her gown but then, Sansa realised that he was in truth peering at her feet and ankles. The view seemed to light something in him for his eyes gleamed.

 

“It _is_ freezing,” he acquiesced. “I could warm you.” The man’s voice was low and hungry.

 

“Warm me?” Sansa repeated as she took a nervous step back.

 

“Aye. Warm you. Would you like that?” he growled.

 

“Oh, I don’t know…” she muttered as she stepped back further, an exciting fright starting to take her over.

 

Grinning in an almost threatening manner, Sandor began to stride toward her and Sansa’s heart immediately jumped into her throat. She squeaked as she turned around and began running. Her pursuer was faster than her though; she knew it for she could hear him as he quickened his pace and came nearer and nearer. She was fleeing as if her life depended on it, as if she would be eaten alive once she was caught and the knowledge that he would soon catch up with her was both bloodcurdling and thrilling.

 

Inevitably, Sandor’s strong fingers soon grasped her arm and encircled it. Sansa screamed and tried to struggle free from his grip but he easily immobilised her and threw her onto the moss at his feet.

 

“You can’t flee from me, Sansa,” he hissed as he got down on his knees.

 

In no time, his body was almost entirely covering hers as he pinned her helplessly to the ground. He was so strong and heavy, she could never fight him but she absurdly tried anyway, enjoying the sensation of being dominated so completely by such a powerful man.

 

Ultimately, she stilled, breathless and let Sandor slide a hand up her waist. Slowly, firmly, he raised it to her ribs in a possessive massage and stroked her as if he had never longed to touch anything more than her body. At once defenceless and exhilarated, Sansa shut her eyes and arched into him. His breath was warm against her neck and hair as he bit and licked her throat.

 

“Sandor,” she managed to moan just before he kissed her with the passion and despair of a dying man.

 

“Oh, Sansa,” he panted as he left her mouth. “I want you.”

 

It was then that she felt it. Solid and omnipresent as soon as she realised what it was; his need against her thigh. Her eyes abruptly opened but she couldn’t utter a sound as overwhelmed as she was at that moment.

 

Oblivious, the man was nibbling at her ear. “You’re still my prisoner, little bird. You know that? I could do whatever I want with you…” he whispered in a fit of passion as he grabbed one of her breasts.

 

Yelping, Sansa began squirming but Sandor overpowered her and only pressed his manhood further against her thigh and hip; she could sense almost every detail of its massive shape as it rubbed against her. 

 

 “Sandor! Please…” Sansa finally managed to cry out as she wriggled in a vain attempt to free herself from his hold.

 

The fear that was building in her must have been evident for the man loosened his grip and backed away from her slightly. “I’d best stop,” he panted, eyes still wild. “Or else, I’ll _take_ that song from you.”

 

For the breadth of a second, confusion took Sansa over. _Take that song? What song?_

 

Steadily, Sandor got on his knees and began studying her, his head tilted slightly. After an awkward pause, he laughed wryly and added, “Don’t tell me you don’t yet understand what I meant…”

 

Baffled, Sansa got on her elbows. _Oh…_ she mused as she finally realised the scale of her innocence.

 

The man stood, his manhood still evidently stiff in his breeches. “I’m… _sorry_ , Sansa,” he rasped, ill at ease but smirking as he looked elsewhere and stalked into the woods.

 

He left her alone and bewildered, not certain of what she should be thinking. Though she was horrified by his actions and the nuance that he had implied all along without her even grasping it, Sansa felt alone and unfulfilled, frustrated by the lack of him. Her core was burning with a need that she didn’t totally understand. _I’m so naïve, so stupid! Of course he would want to… do these things,_ she sighed, exasperated with herself. How could she not have foreseen this?

 

Unenthusiastically, she got up, smoothed her skirts and repaired her hair. Looking behind her, she noticed that her crown of daisies had been crushed beneath her. _Same as my naivety,_ she observed bitterly.

 

She headed toward the river and sat on the boulder where she had laid her cloak earlier. The sun was setting in the west and the view was beautiful of course, but she felt sad and heavy. She let her mind wander without any purpose for some time until she heard splashing sounds nearby. Curious, she jerked her head and saw a small boat on the river moving slowly toward her. Two men were aboard and were peering at her with interest. Their attention sent a shiver down Sansa’s spine and she tensed at seeing their faces light up with undeniable pleasure when they were close enough to make her out completely. 

 

“Who are you?” one of them inquired with a yell as they both swiftly used their oars to get the boat to rest over the pebbles of the bank.

 

Alarmed, Sansa stood up and began striding away.

 

“Hey! Don’t go!” the other man ordered as he jumped from the boat.

 

For the second time that day, Sansa had to run although this flight was nothing like the game she and Sandor had played mere moments earlier. She ran as fast as she could manage but Sansa’s bare feet kept catching in the long herbs that covered the ground and therefore her pursuer caught her by the wrist as quickly as the Hound had captured her minutes before.

 

“What’s a lovely young lady like you doing in the wild all alone?” the man asked as he immobilized his prey with the help of his friend.

 

“I’m not alone! Let me go, or else, Sandor will kill you!” Sansa cried out with force, squirming and kicking desperately as she did so.

 

“Who’s _Sandor_?” one of the men replied, unimpressed.

 

“My protector!” Sansa warned him loudly. “Sandor! SANDOR!” she screamed at the top of her lungs as she struggled against their grips.

 

She was unsurprisingly no match against two grown men; they grinned, pleased at the prospect of the feast that awaited them while they began laying her on the ground. Just as she was starting to lose hope, Sansa heard steps coming fast from behind her. The men noticed them too but only had time to loosen their hold on her before their fate was sealed. Unbalanced, Sansa fell on her backside and gasped as she saw a sword thrust through one of the men’s throats. She rapidly rolled onto her side and barely managed to avoid his body as it fell lifeless on the soil. Now flat on her front, Sansa watched as the other man tried to flee, screaming. Thankfully, she managed to bring both her hands over her eyes as she glimpsed the Hound’s sword coming down on her attacker and only heard the sound of her protector’s blade as it sliced the man nearly in half.

 

All of a sudden, the forest was quiet again; not even the birds seemed to sing anymore, only the Hound’s loud breathing could be heard. Still in a state of shock, Sansa was unable to move for a long time and kept her hands firmly pressed over her face but after a few minutes, she slowly lowered them and looked warily around her. The bloody mess that surrounded her was horrifying and as she raised her gaze to the Hound, she realised that he was almost as covered with blood as the bodies at his feet. He was looking down at her, face stained with red droplets, chest heaving up and down rapidly. His eyes were still wide. Without haste, Sansa clumsily stood up, her gaze never leaving his. Their eyes were locked as she slowly approached him but she halted when she was a step away from him. Sandor still held his sword in one of his hands; its scarlet, sticky end was buried in the ground next to him. Sansa looked him up and down as if she was seeing him for the first time and truly, she was. For the first time, she didn’t see the flaws in the man before her; his scars, his rudeness, all that was gone. Even his previous horrible behaviour toward her was now totally forgotten. No, at that moment, she only saw the saviour, the protector that he was and had always been for her. _My knight,_ she mused, _my knight in shining armour_.

 

And then, she threw her arms around his neck, jumped up and kissed him passionately.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sansa**

As soon as their lips parted from the long and passionate kiss they shared, Sandor began to release Sansa from his embrace. The solid ground was shortly under her feet; with a pang, she let the tall man gently push her aside.

 

“Careful, little bird. That blade is sharp enough to cut one of your fine hairs in two,” he warned while nodding at the bloodied sword he held.

 

The sight of the previously forgotten weapon and the gore that still covered it sent a shiver down Sansa’s spine. Not accustomed to beholding such violence as she had moments before, the young girl was instinctively repelled by the remembrance of the bloodshed it had engendered. Without thinking, she moved back even further from Sandor only to bump into one of the corpses of her attackers. Yelping, she staggered, eyes wide with terror when she realized what she had stumbled upon but she rapidly took a step forward and jerked her head away from the dead man to look at the Hound instead. His face and tunic were splattered with scarlet droplets. _This slaughter may be abhorrent but Sandor wasn’t the one to initiate it._ _He has done it to save me,_ she reasoned in an attempt to soothe her strained nerves. The Hound had indeed killed both men for her sake and no one, if told of the tale of their assault, could argue that they hadn’t deserved their fate. Still, that such ugliness could result from an act of justice and bravery was hard to grasp. _What I have witnessed is never mentioned in the songs, but it is part of the stories nonetheless,_ Sansa suddenly realized.Emboldened by this new insight, she forced her gaze to wander over the pitiful pieces of flesh that were left of her attackers. The view was far from pretty but as she let her eyes rove, a revelation abruptly shook her. Every crimson slash that covered the corpses’ skin was a declaration. Sandor Clegane may never tell her that he loved her, yet this was his way of showing the devotion and passion he felt for her. Sansa smiled at the idea. Never would she have envisioned that, in the blink of an eye, something so horrid could become utterly charming.

 

A scowl twisting his face, the Hound was crouched over the body that lay nearer to him when Sansa returned her attention to him. Carelessly, he wiped his sword against the tunic it wore, the weapon’s dark steel shining almost blindingly under the dying sunbeams for a brief instant. Alert as a dog on the hunt trying to get the scent of his prey, Sandor then stood up, back braced and eyes narrowed while sheathing his sword at his hip. Warily, he peered around him for a few instants until he eyed the mess that was left of the things Sansa had settled on the boulder earlier. A heartbeat later, both her cloak and stockings were thrown over Sandor’s elbow and her boots grabbed one-handed before the man turned around and returned to her hastily. Wordlessly, he leaned down and circled his free arm around Sansa’s upper thighs just below her bottom. Her own arms instinctively snaked around his neck as he lifted her from the ground and began striding toward Stranger. Absorbed by the masculinity of his scent, Sansa kept her head down, nose nestled in the crook of Sandor’s neck while he carried her like a child.

 

“Here, girl,” the man whispered as he handed her clothing and boots to her once she was back on her feet. “Put this on again. We had best flee this damned place, _at once_. Who knows if a fucking _garrison_ of those bastards is coming down the river just now?”

 

Nodding, Sansa obeyed without delay, starting by draping her cloak over her shoulders while Sandor saddled Stranger. She almost fell trying to slide her foot inside its stocking but quickly regained her balance and had just begun stretching the woolen cloth up to her knee when she felt the Hound’s stare on her leg and froze. Noticing her unease, the man grunted and immediately avoided his eyes before resuming fitting his armour into the saddlebag. Cheeks flushed, Sansa managed to hide the shy smile that uncontrollably stretched her lips as she donned her other stocking and put on her boots. Once they were both laced, she gladly let Sandor grab her waist and settle her over Stranger’s back.

 

“Let’s go,” he rasped as he jumped behind her and kicked the horse with his heels.

 

They rode through the woods for an unknown period of time; the world around Sansa was too blurry and dreamlike for her to distinguish the passing minutes. Eyes closed, she let her mind wander while she leaned comfortably against Sandor. Naught mattered to her at that moment but the feel of his unarmored body behind her and the pleasant tickle that the touch of his massive muscles sent all over her sensitive skin. The horror of the bloodied scene they had left now seemed as far away as King’s Landing to Sansa and only the positive outcomes of the attack remained in her thoughts. _He saved me… again,_ she kept marveling as she pressed the side of her head further into his chest. She couldn’t say how many times he had rescued her previously, however she knew for a fact that she couldn’t count the occasions on the fingers of a single hand. _And he will save me once more if harm ever comes to me again._ He’d probably even be willing to die for her, she reflected in awe. Sandor Clegane was truly her protector, the devoted knight she had always dreamed of - although he would never admit the latter. There was something overly romantic about it all. Like the heroines of the songs she had always loved so much, Sansa had the strongest man in the realm at her service, ready to sacrifice everything he had ever possessed and desiring only to be at her side. She sighed deeply, dizzy from the intensity of the dream that was taking root in her life. The gods were truly good and had sent her the knight she had prayed for so often during the sleepless nights of her confinement.

 

And there was another similarity Sansa shared with Queen Naerys, Jonquil and the like, the young girl realized, heart pounding. Forbidden love. _Love?!_ she almost gasped aloud, eyes momentarily wide open. _Is that truly what I now feel for him?_ The answer to the question was plain as the night that had recently fallen over the forest. The revelation was beyond shocking but Sansa was even more disconcerted to notice that she didn’t feel so torn apart about her feelings towards the Hound anymore. The internal battle that had previously divided her so had ceased, ceding to soothing peace and harmony instead. Her heart had won the fight over her mind, which conceded the victory cheerfully, and all Sansa desired was to forget about every barrier that normally should’ve kept her from the man she loved, to be in his arms forever.

 

It was then that reality finally struck her, cold and cruel as a dagger thrust in one’s back. _Sandor and I will soon have to part,_ she remembered, eyes wide with dread. How was she ever going to be safe if the man that was meant to protect her was forced to abandon her? How would her heart keep on beating without his presence, looks and touches to precipitate its rhythm? Breathing in, Sansa tried to calm herself from the panic that was threatening to possess her. She would have to find a way to convince her mother to accept the Hound as her shield. It would be arduous to be sure, but anything was possible with enough determination and the right arguments, she decided. As King Joffrey’s former sworn shield, Sandor Clegane’s reliability as a protector had been proven on many occasions. He had fought many a war, won various battles and his mastery of the warrior arts was renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms… but that would never convince her mother. She would hate him and wish him gone the minute she saw him arrive. Oh, she would _never_ contradict the efficiency of having such a protector for one’s daughter, of course, but could she forget the fact that he had been in the Lannisters’ service for even longer than Sansa had been in this world? Could she overlook his reputation and looks, and especially, would she believe him when he announced that he had turned his cloak and was now planning to pledge his life to the Northern King?

 

_Never._

_I’ll figure out a way to make her see. She might not believe the Hound, but she’ll trust the word of her own daughter. I’ll tell her how he saved me from many dangers and more, how he risked dying on my behalf continuously since our lives collided… I’ll sing his praises so perfectly that she’ll relent and permit him to stay with me and then, we’ll never need to part. He’ll become my shadow…_ Sansa had never desired anything more; surely the gods would listen and grant her only wish or else, why give her the knight she had prayed for only to take him away so soon? _The gods won’t tear us apart, I know they won’t. They’ll guide my mother and help me convince her to keep Sandor as my guard._ She had to have faith in the gods and believe that her mother would yield to her request, for there was really nothing else she might do to aid her cause.

 

“I think this place will do for the night,” the Hound stated suddenly, his rasping voice cutting though the silence that had enveloped them since they had fled the banks of the river.

 

Missing his warmth as soon as he had jumped from his place behind her, Sansa followed Sandor with her stare as he stalked around the clearing to make sure no hidden dangers awaited them. When he was confident the glade was safe, he came back to her and curved his strong hands around her waist. Their gazes locked; Sansa was melting into him as he began to bring her down. On reflex, she circled his broad neck and shoulders with her thin but determined arms, preventing him from settling her onto the ground. His scarred features were unreadable as she pressed her open lips against his but Sandor didn’t fight against her kiss and let her tongue enter his mouth. His mouth was warm and comforting, his body robust as an oak beneath hers.

 

“We need to set up camp, Sansa,” he grunted in an unconvincing tone as he let her go.

 

She nodded, peering at their surroundings although she couldn’t make out much through the growing darkness. Absent-minded as she had been while they had fled, Sansa felt as if she had just materialized in these woods and the route they had followed had never existed. Their regular routine was quickly over and done; Sansa’s bedroll was flat on the forest floor, ready to be slept over and Stranger was fed and freed from his saddle. Sandor had lit a small fire and he and Sansa had eaten a light meal of dried meat and old bread. Naught was left to do before they might sleep and so the man had found a tree that he could lean against and was busy cleaning his sword of the remaining blood that still threatened to rust its blade while Sansa watched him intently from across the flames. _They won’t part us,_ she repeated to herself as she discreetly began moving toward him, slowly creeping over the ground like a creature of the night. The Hound was almost startled when she finally reached him but he nevertheless didn’t hesitate to throw his weapon aside and pull her over his lap. Sansa gave no resistance as it was exactly what she was longing for.

 

“I killed those buggers, little bird. You don’t have to worry anymore,” he rasped in her ear as if he believed that she had joined him in search of comfort. “If more come, they can all just line up and die, one after the other.”

 

His words, although rough and unsophisticated, pleased Sansa no end with their confidence and brutish devotion. He would protect her. She had not been wrong moments earlier when she had fancied him her knight. He was.

 

“Oh, Sandor,” she murmured, eyes gleaming just before he shut her up with a hungry, predatory kiss.

 

His tongue was soft, tender and commanding all at once in a mix so perfect that it answered Sansa’s every need although she could tell that it would never satiate him. Her hands had somehow appeared over the Hound’s chest and she shyly let her palms press against the firmness that lay beneath them. A moan escaped her lips when his mouth left hers and went trailing down her throat. More carefully than earlier, Sandor’s hands were on her again but Sansa could sense that he was restraining himself. She wasn’t, and therefore she let her fingers trace the muscles of his torso. They were taut and unbelievably solid under her timid touch and she was as horrified as pleasantly surprised by the unexpected impulse that allowed her to act so improperly. Blood was covering both her hands and his tunic as she tentatively stroked him but instead of appalling her as it should, the red stickiness only made her more aware of the lengths that the man was ready to go to on her behalf. 

 

Eyes aflame with passion, Sandor pulled her even closer to him. Their intimacy at that moment was beyond overwhelming but Sansa didn’t even think to struggle; she leaned her head on his shoulder and let the flow of their shared passion wash over her instead. The Hound’s mouth was on her neck while his large hands caressed her waist and collarbone firmly. A peculiar but intoxicating heat was quickly invading Sansa’s core, urging her to press further into him as if she wished to merge with the man. Breathing in, she allowed the sweet trance-like state in which she was shrouded to gradually drag her further into its abyss until the feel of a now-familiar stiffness abruptly disrupted her. Her eyes immediate popped open. _Again?!_ she wondered, abashed by the touch of the unmistakable hardness under her backside and upper thighs. _Do all men… react… so easily?_

 

A vibration shook Sansa’s cheek as the Hound snorted a short hoarse laugh. “Don’t be so tense, little bird. I might be hard but I won’t rape you,” he said with amusement as softly as his rough voice could manage while caressing her hair.

 

Against all logic and every lesson she had ever been brought up with, Sansa relaxed as much as possible in that impossible situation. She shyly lowered her gaze but was unable to move away, the feel of Sandor’s hard member against her soft body trapping her into stillness. The small flame that had previously been lit inside her stomach had now evolved into a great and mighty fire but her fine breeding prevented her from acting on this new mystifying passion. Arms curled around Sandor, she was as motionless as if the world had stopped turning, only the increasing heaving of the man’s chest told her that it was not so. Fingers busily stroking her hair, cheek and neck in slow, smooth circles, the Hound let Sansa rest against him for a time but then pushed her gently from him. “You need sleep, little bird,” he said as he stood up. “And I… I need to piss,” he declared before stalking into the woods.

 

Alone, Sansa sat with her legs drawn up against her breasts, hair tousled while mixed feelings overwhelmed her. How could she ever have permitted all this to unfold? A new barrier had been broached and she hadn’t voiced a single word to stop it. Her silence had in some way been tacit approval of the Hound’s actions, Sansa realized warily. She had been warned many times against the dangers that ensued from fraternizing with boys – or men – in the manner that interested her by her mother and Septa Mordane. What kind of ladies let retainers do things like these to them? It was certainly very unsettling, however Sansa couldn’t find it in her to truly be concerned by her recent actions with Sandor. _I love him._ Wasn’t that alone enough substance to support all their deeds? _It is_ , she decided as she crawled to her bedroll. Of course, she would _never_ dare to let things go further than they had already, but that evidently went without saying. The furs were cold when she pulled them up and so Sansa curled into herself in search of warmth, the movement reminding her of the queer sensation that still lingered in her loins. She bit her lips and blushed madly as she remembered how the Hound’s manhood had rubbed against her twice that day but the idea wasn’t so frightening anymore. No, Sansa was now more curious than scared at the prospect of what might occur between them. What could possibly be so bad about feeling a man’s hardness through the fabric of his garments anyway? It wasn’t proper but it didn’t compromise her in any way. It didn’t bring any ill, really and the Hound would never take her completely if she didn’t give him her consent first, Sansa was certain about that. _He wants me though,_ she mused, suddenly submerged by the immensity of the implication. The _thing_ he desired from her was as forbidden as it was unnamable. Only a rightful husband could ever hope to get such a present from a maiden; Sandor certainly knew that she could _never_ give it to him. Or could she? _No. Oh, no, never! I should be ashamed just to consider it!_ Sansa cried out inwardly.

 

Yet, once the idea had taken root in her mind, there was no ignoring it anymore. Although it would be beyond unacceptable, she had it in her power to offer herself to Sandor if the desire took her. Absurd as it may seem, she had never fully grasped the control she had over herself and her destiny in that matter. The notion of that newfound freedom sent an exciting shiver down to her core. What would occur if she gave herself to Sandor Clegane? Most likely, he’d waste no time in tearing her gown open and immobilizing her on the ground before exploring her softness with rough, urgent hands. Her bare, sensitive skin would rub against his calloused and hairy male body as he possessed her completely…. She’d be so tiny and powerless that he would cover every inch of her –

 

 _This is not right!_ she tried to reason, but there was no fighting against the force that had taken her over. She was already a slave to her own curiosity and yearning as she tentatively squeezed her thighs together, eager to relieve the unsettling tingle that was building there. It wasn’t enough though; the pressure only seemed to tease her more. Almost against her will, Sansa let her hand slide over her gown until she reached the place she was troubled by. The ache was still heavy, almost blinding as she stroked it through the cloth. The sensation it brought was exquisite but still not strong enough. She was in no state to worry about what was seemly or not anymore and therefore didn’t even think about restraining herself as she gripped her skirts and brought them higher over her thighs. Her fingers were finding their way to that secret part of her when the sound of Sandor’s footsteps suspended her every movement. What would the Hound think of her if he knew the impossible position she was in? Horrified by what she had gotten herself into, Sansa stayed still and made as if she had fallen into a deep sleep. Thankfully, the man was too tired to notice anything. With a grunt, he almost collapsed as he lay down against the tree he had chosen earlier and began snoring less than a minute later. Once she was certain he had lost all trace of consciousness, Sansa opened her eyes and turned her head around. The fire was now no more than a few dim sparks of light but she nonetheless could make out the shape of his massive limbs, burnt face and heaving chest through the darkness. She longed to rejoin him and spend the night tangled in his arms but couldn’t gather the courage nor the force of will to leave the warmth of her bedroll. Instead, she began stirring the fingers that were still hidden between her legs, the queer sensation she had earlier felt immediately revived by the movement.

 

It wasn’t the first time Sansa had explored that part of herself but never before had her folds been so sensitive to her touch. Nor could she have foreseen the intensity of the response it would trigger in her. The nub of skin she had previously discovered was reactive to an extent she hadn’t experienced until now; nervously she breathed in and let her fingers trace small circles there. Something mysterious was building in her and would rapidly engulf her, Sansa realized. Biting her lip, she gazed at the Hound, admiring his imposing form one last time before she shut her eyes and let her pleasure flood over her in a gigantic and uncontrollable wave of ecstasy. She barely managed not to moan aloud as she increased the pressure but then she halted and opened her eyes in amazement. Never had she suspected that such bliss could arise from mere caresses; nobody had ever told her that her body held such wonders. _Is this part of what attracts men to women so and makes them try to divert maidens and wives from their duty?_ Undoubtedly, Sansa concluded with a smile. She felt as if she had just uncovered a fragment of a secret that was meant to stay hidden until her wedding night but strangely enough, the idea didn’t shame or trouble her. Things were definitely changing in her, she reflected as she closed her eyes. Sleep wasn’t long in coming; minutes later, her breathing slowed down as she stepped into the realm of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this one!  
> Just to let you know, this story is slowly but surely approaching its ending. I estimate that they’ll be about four other chapters after this one. I prefer to tell you this now so that you are mentally prepared when the end arrives.   
> There are lots of things that can happen in four chapters though, so no use worrying! ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I know! It’s been so long, but so many things happened since I last posted and I’m also extremely busy at school at the moment… Anyway, this chapter is the longest I’ve wrote so hopefully it will make it up. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks everyone for your patience and I hope you’ll keep on reading and enjoying this.

**Sandor**

The blood had definitely become embedded in his skin; there wasn’t much to do about it. _Should’ve cleaned it yesterday,_ Sandor mused with annoyance as he rubbed his arm even harder, crouched over the small creek he had found. Well, perhaps he _should_ have but he hadn’t had much choice and he wasn’t about to regret his course of action. After the little bird had been attacked by the two _damnable_ buggers, the wisest thing to do had been to flee and not look back. He wouldn’t have risked more boats coming up the river and Sansa hurt or raped by the bastards they’d carry. _Raped_ … The word sent bile up his throat and made him unconsciously clench his jaw. The fact that those boors had intended to take her by force as if she were prey they could hunt down at their own leisure had stirred Sandor’s thirst for violence to a level it very rarely reached. If they’d known that only a few yards away, he stood watching, that _the_ _Hound_ was their _quarry’s_ escort and protector, the two halfwits indubitably would have rowed a little further up the river and passed by, eyes averted as if the girl was the sun itself. Sadly for them, they hadn’t and therefore they had learned the brutal way at what cost a man interposed himself between the Hound and his duty. At the thought, Sandor bared his teeth in satisfaction but as he reflected on it he had to laugh at the falseness of it.

 

Who was he kidding really? Duty had naught to do with the slaughter that had followed and the girl’s life and _precious_ maidenhead certainly didn’t need to be threatened for his blood to boil dangerously in his veins. He’d kill for less than that, far less… He’d tear out the eyes of each and every bugger who’d so much as glanced at the girl only to be assured that he was the sole one admiring her beauty. _And then, I’d be the only male with sight left in Westeros,_ he surmised, irked by his own foolishness. The truth was he’d have to learn to live with the reality that he couldn’t be the only one eyeing the little bird’s curves with lust and hunger but the very notion made his skin crawl uncomfortably. Scratching his neck, the man sighed heavily. He had not always been so possessive of her; in King’s Landing Sandor had barely given any attention to the looks she was getting from the males that surrounded her. _She was Joffrey’s little bird then and I hadn’t tasted her either… She’s mine now though,_ he mused with a slight smirk.For a heartbeat, Sandor believed his own claim but his satisfaction was short lived. Not only was Sansa not his but he was going to lose her forever very soon. _Stupid dog,_ he scoffed, a scowl twisting his face.

 

His mood foul and bitter, the man abruptly stood and strode away from the creek to rejoin the girl in the clearing where they had slept. The hope that he would ever be clean again had definitely been erased from his mind; blood still stained the skin of his arms and he didn’t even want to start pondering how his face might look. _Terrible as always, only bloodier,_ Sandor wryly sneered to himself.The little bird didn’t seem to agree with him however for when saw him arrive, her pretty face lit up as if she had never longed to see anything more than his burned features.

 

“Sandor!” she exclaimed as she rose and hurriedly approached him.

 

The girl had lately taken to calling him by his name. It was a change from the ‘my lords’ she used to give him so plentifully. He liked the sound of his name on those luscious lips. Her voice was so soft; it sounded almost pure to his ears when she called him. Almost.

 

“What took you so long?” the little bird complained, her pink mouth set in a pout that looked tastier than any fruit he had ever eaten.

 

“The blood won’t wash off,” Sandor explained distractedly, too taken by the perfection of her pale skin and the glow it had under the morning sun to truly care about his own hide anymore.

 

“I’m sorry I used the last of your soap,” she whispered with such a sad look that he barely managed not to burst out laughing.

 

_Such a sweet girl._ “Don’t worry about me. Dogs are used being dirty. Better you are clean, and I am the filthy one,” Sandor rasped while caressing her cheek with his knuckles.

 

The little bird was beaming again, eyes gleaming and all. It was baffling how his crude words appeared to fill her with joy while not so long ago she had silently disapproved of everything he said. _The girl’s getting used to me,_ was the logical conclusion _._ The next instant, her eyelids were shut and she was craning her neck, mouth slightly open. Sandor smirked to himself; he damned well knew what that meant. Although he still couldn’t figure out why the _seven hells_ such a beauty would desire being kissed by the likes of him, he’d be a fool not to take advantage of his chance. He lifted his hands to her shoulders and bent down to kiss her. As always, her lips were tender and submissive and Sandor wondered for a moment if she would truly oppose him if he laid her on the ground, lifted those heavy skirts and tore open that very annoying bodice...

 

Aye, of course she’d complain and squeak but who was to know what a woman truly meant when she said no? _Anyhow, what could she possibly do against me? As long as the exchange has not taken place, she’s mine to do as I wish._ The temptation to take the girl, willing or not, had never totally left him; it still lingered in the back of his mind and he apparently would never be rid of it but he had already made his choice and intended to stick to his word. He wouldn’t rape her… which also meant he would _never_ have her. _Stop whining, dog, you already had much more than you deserve._ On the previous night, the little bird had allowed his hardened cock to rub against her firm little arse and hadn’t even tried to escape. It was mind-blowing but he had been the one to flee in the end. He had had no buggering choice if he wanted to keep the promise he had made to himself. His hand had been the one doing the dirty deed in the end… again. Throughout the last few days, Sandor had fucked his hand more often than a bloody squire would. It was laughable. Well, he’d best stop kissing the girl and leave the bloody clearing before he had to do it all over again.

 

“We need to go, Sansa,” the man muttered as he let his arms fall from around her and straightened his back.

 

The girl nodded but nonetheless stayed nestled into him for a time. Her eyes were shut and she was pushing her cheek and palms into his torso in a manner that reminded Sandor of a cat begging to be petted. Just as he was about to relent and raise his hands to hold her again, the little bird turned around and fled from his grasp as swiftly as a leaf twirling away from one’s fingers. Sandor felt his mouth twitch and he grunted in annoyance.

 

“Aren’t you going to put on your armour?’ the oblivious girl asked, head jerking around to look at him when she was a few steps away.

 

“You’re right. I’d forgotten,” he answered almost harshly.

 

Hastily, Sandor headed to the saddlebag that still lay on the ground and gathered the steel pieces into a pile beside it. He sat on a dead tree and began tying the smallest parts by himself but once he got to his breastplate, Sansa neared him from behind and wordlessly took over for him. He let her do it. Why not? Wasn’t she doing herself a favour more than anything else? His armour had absurdly been protecting her from him during their last days together. Without it, the contact of their skin was far too direct and therefore the danger that he might lose his control increased, as yesterday’s events demonstrated. He barked a short, dry laugh. As of yet, his armour had been of more use protecting her from him than from their foes. 

 

“Why are you laughing, Sandor?” the girl asked innocently as she buckled the last piece of steel over him.

 

“I don’t know myself,” he lied as he stood up so abruptly that she almost fell down.

 

Thankfully, Sandor quickly caught her by the shoulders and prevented her fall. The grateful look she gave him as he straightened her up was so moving that it might have broken the heart of the most hardened brutes of the realm - and he was one of them. Sandor snorted, irritated by his own senselessness and gently pushed her aside to join Stranger. The saddlebag was quickly settled over the horse’s back and the stallion moved nervously while he waited for the last preparations to be done, obviously eager to go. _Good. At least one of us has other preoccupations than fucking the little bird._

They were shortly on their way again and the girl was leaning on him as if he was a bloody pillow. What could she possibly appreciate about the hardness of steel against her back? Sandor pushed the thought aside as he would a gnat with the wave of a hand and tried to recall what truly mattered instead: Hornvale. The castle was alarmingly close. Gone was the time when he and his charge were isolated from the world like two castaways on a secluded island; people would start to sprout around them more and more. Hornvale was the seat of House Brax, one of the chief bannermen of the Lannisters. It wouldn’t do to be surprised by their lord or retainers; most were likely to know Sandor and although he doubted that rumours of his demise had reached anyone’s ears as of yet, the best course of action was nonetheless to lay low and pass by unnoticed. 

 

“Oh, look, Sandor! There! A house!” the little bird suddenly chirped while pointing at a decrepit cabin not too far away.

 

“Aye, I saw it. This won’t be the last we come by, so make sure your hood is up _at all times_ and keep quiet,” he ordered her more sternly than he had intended.

 

The girl nodded and lifted her hood. Three children in rags were playing around the house and froze when they noticed the travellers. Standing still, they stared with wide eyes, obviously frightened by the strangers. Their faces were all dirtied with earth and their hair had the color and texture of old straw. Those were the get of the poorest of the poor, hermits that lived on the edge of civilization, Sandor surmised. Nevertheless, even recluses couldn’t live too far from a village of some type; Hornvale, in that case. Eyes narrowed, Sandor sent the tots a furtive glare and the three of them instantly jumped and ran away, yelping like mice. The man sniggered as he watched their flight but he nonetheless calmly continued on his way, never mind the reproving glance the little bird sent him.

 

As the day went by, Sandor’s prediction proved right; hovels were getting increasingly more common and the wood was becoming thinner by the hour. Around midday, they encountered a group of woodcutters that stopped their work to eye him and the little bird with suspicion. None were as tall as him but they were a brawny lot and therefore Sandor kept his gaze on them and his hand over the hilt of his sword. The group was silent and staring, even their mules appeared puzzled by the disruption and had turned their heads around to gaze at the intruders. After a long and awkward moment of incertitude, the commoners finally gave way to let Stranger pass and bowed down. Breathing out with relief, Sandor hurried his horse forward and hastily left the clearing behind.

 

Hornvale’s nearest village was perhaps less than an hour away and although he was getting nervous about the dangers it might represent, Sandor knew that avoiding it completely was not a viable option. They were already late enough for the exchange and circling around Hornvale would perhaps add as much as a half-day to their journey. Their current proximity to the castle couldn’t be helped.

 

Just as he was reflecting on these facts, Sandor sighted the towers of Hornvale castle piercing through the canopy of the forest in the distance. The white and purple sigil of House Brax was flying high and proud in the sky above it and Sansa, who had sensed that his attention had been caught by something, turned her head around and gasped when she noticed the stone structure.

 

“A castle!” she whispered, her voice as terrified as if she had glimpsed a dragon cutting its way across the sky. Clutching at Sandor’s arm, she rapidly jerked her head around and gazed up at him with eyes wide with apprehension.

 

He had to smile at the excessiveness of her reaction. “Aye. Hornvale, it’s called,” he explained, eyes protectively lowered to her. “We’ll avoid it as best we can.”

 

With a kick, Sandor hurried Stranger’s pace. Throughout the next hour, he tried to keep a sensible distance between the castle and them without losing sight of its tower completely. By then, the trees were so sparse that it was as easy to keep a steady rhythm as it would’ve been on any regular country lane. The little bird and he were about to completely leave Hornvale’s surroundings behind when the sound of hooves on the forest ground resounded from behind them. Jerking his head around, Sandor discerned the rider immediately. He was still at some distance from them but at the speed he rode, he was sure to catch up with them in no time and as the bugger obviously intended to join them, there was really no sense in trying to flee. Reluctantly, Sandor halted Stranger and turned the horse around while discreetly laying a hand over the hilt of his sword. Alarmed, the little bird gazed up at him, her eyes big and round.

 

“Stay still and keep your mouth shut. We’ll see what the boor wants soon enough,” he told her lowly, the rough edge of his voice betraying his unease.

 

Without a word, the girl leaned further into him, hugging herself as if she were cold while she returned her attention to the rider. The man was rapidly closing in; they would soon discover the purpose of the peculiar and unwanted pursuit. When he finally reached them, the boor stopped his horse and began boldly studying them both while catching his breath. The man was close enough to make them out clearly and although he appeared surprised by his find, he also seemed queerly pleased.

 

“So the rumour is true,” he finally said when he was rested enough.

 

“What rumour?” Sandor spat with contempt. By instinct, he tightened his fingers around his sword’s hilt.

 

Seemingly unaware of his interlocutor’s hostility, the man explained himself with contentment. “Woodcutters that worked in the forest nearby came back to Hornvale with tidings that the Hound was in the area. My lord has sent me to meet you and offer his hospitality. He told me that no member of the Kingsguard and servant of the Lannisters could possibly pass by without spending at least one night at his castle.”

 

Sandor’s scowl deepened. He’d been a bloody fool to hope that the woodcutters hadn’t recognised him, especially with the looks they had given him. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from the hilt of his sword; his blade wouldn’t be of any help with that Brax retainer. Words were the weapon he’d need to get out of this fix but courtesies had never been his thing. Nonetheless, he’d try. “We’re in a hurry. You’ll thank Lord Brax for me but-”

 

“Why not come and thank him by yourself, Clegane?” a voice resounded from further into the woods.

 

Almost instantly, Sandor jerked his head around and peered in the direction it had come. Too preoccupied by the incursion of the first bugger, Sandor had shamefully not even noticed that there was another rider approaching them. He glowered, piqued by his own negligence. “And who are you?” he yelled at the newcomer.

 

“Give me time to join you first, please,” the second rider cried out as he led his horse toward them. He was a young man of twenty years or so, with chestnut hair and a tanned complexion and the quality of the garb he wore gave no doubt that he was no retainer. “You don’t recognise me, of course,” he said when he was close enough. “Last time we met, I was little more than a boy but I remember admiring your battle skills in our yard while you practiced with other men of your group.” Bowing his head slightly, the young man presented himself. “I am Richard, heir of House Brax. Surely nothing can be so pressing that you won’t stop by the castle to rest properly.”

 

_Great… exactly what I needed; the buggering heir in person. That one will definitely be harder to rebuff,_ Sandor reflected while fighting the urge to roll his eyes and sigh. “I thank you, my lord, but I am on a mission that requires me to be as fast as possible,” he replied instead.

 

The heir’s stare had travelled from Sandor to Sansa and he was gazing at her with curious eyes. “A mission involving this young lady, I gather?”

 

Jaw clenched, Sandor grudgingly recognised that there was no point in lying about what was as plain as day. “Aye, it does,” he admitted. Only then did he realise that the little bird’s back was still flush against him. Discreetly, he raised a hand and pushed her from him.

 

The Brax lad thankfully didn’t notice anything, too busy listening to the sound of his own voice. “And – tell me if I’m right - could it be possible that this _mission_ is somehow connected to the gathering taking place near the Golden Tooth?” he asked. “Some say that Jaime Lannister has been brought up there but no one has been able to confirm it yet. We know that most of the group is from the Riverlands but that some of them have come from as far as the North-”

 

Sandor’s mouth twitched. _Are all of the fucking Seven Kingdoms acquainted with this now?!_ “This _meeting_ was supposed to be a secret. Have rumours spread already?” he said curtly with scarcely hidden anger.

 

“No use worrying, my friend!” the young lord replied, a wide, poised grin stretching his lips. “We know of it at the castle because of the spies we keep but the smallfolk and knights of the area are ignorant of the matter, of course.”

 

“I see,” Sandor rasped dryly, not reassured at all by the boy’s words.

 

Smiling warmly at the girl, the heir of House Brax advanced slightly toward them while continuing with his interminable inquiry. “I presume this young woman is Lady Sansa of House Stark. Which other maiden could be brought to Riverlanders and Northerners in such secrecy, I wonder? And with the hair she has-”

 

“You’re right, it is she,” Sandor impatiently snapped. He hadn’t taken note that the little bird’s locks weren’t braided. Red curls were clearly visible, cascading out of her hood down to her waist.

 

With a questioning frown, the young man continued in an amused tone. “Was it judged more _discreet_ to travel this way, with one horse only? It doesn’t seem very fitting to ride double like you’re doing.”

 

Sandor snorted. Of course it wasn’t _proper_. “No. We’ve been attacked by outlaws during our journey. I’ve been able to retrieve the girl, but not her mare nor her things,” he explained, preferring not even to mention the buggering Lannister squire he had lost along the way.

 

“The _girl_? Is this an appropriate way to refer to a highborn maiden like Lady Sansa, hostage though she may be?” the lad asked in a mocking, falsely shocked tone.

 

Sighing, Sandor narrowed his eyes on him. “Well, perhaps not but that’s what I call her,” he retorted without thinking. The Brax boy and his smooth ways were definitely getting on his nerves.

 

The young man laughed casually at his reply. “I’ve been warned about your sharp tongue, Clegane. Very refreshing,” he commented with a genuine smile and Sandor had to wonder at that instant if he didn’t prefer the usual scorn he received than this so very _bothersome_ friendliness. “Anyhow,” the lad continued, “I highly encourage both of you to come to Hornvale. We’ll lend Lady Sansa a horse and provide you with an escort. That will certainly be more seemly when you meet with your hostage’s family. Let’s not cloud the Lannister’s reputation by letting the Northerners witnesstheir _princess_ in such an unbecoming position.”

 

As much as Sandor hated to admit it, the lad had a point. The little bird would certainly benefit from everything that _Richard Brax_ had proposed. She needed to preserve her reputation and some measure of appearance and arriving at the exchange point in a faded, blood-stained dress, sharing a horse with Joffrey’s dog was certainly not the way to achieve it. Anyhow, the Brax family was clearly clueless about Sandor’s little _misadventure_ with Julius and the thugs and thus there was really no risk in spending a single night at their castle. The only detail that bothered him, and it was quite a detail to be honest, was that his time alone with the girl would be ending a few days earlier than he had predicted but it was perhaps better this way. It would all have to end sooner than later anyway.

 

“Fine then. We’ll come,” he answered once he had made up his mind. “I thank you,” he then added as an afterthought with an evident lack of enthusiasm.

 

“The pleasure is mine, Clegane,” the lad replied with a smile. Bowing his head respectfully, he then addressed the little bird. “It’s an honour to welcome you tonight, Lady Sansa.”

 

“I thank you, my lord,” she replied shyly. The lithe muscles of her back were tense but she had listened and was now holding her balance solely by keeping her hands on the pommel. It annoyed Sandor although it was exactly what he had hinted she should do only minutes earlier.

 

“Everything is settled then. You may follow me, I’ll show you the way,” the Brax boy announced joyfully before kicking his horse and striding toward the castle.  Both Sandor and the other rider followed immediately in his wake but none spoke. Only Richard’s voice resounded through the forest as they made their way, although Sandor couldn’t have cared less what he was rambling about.

 

The group had ridden for less than half an hour when they reached the entrance of Hornvale castle. The drawbridge was down and the massive steel doors wide open. The young lord led the way in but Sandor remembered the place well enough. He had spent about a week there when he was returning from battling the rebel Ironmen some years back. The yard hadn’t changed much since that time, he remarked as he scanned the place. A group of men, retainers mostly, were in discussion in one of its corners and standing in the middle of them, Sandor immediately recognised the old lord. He was a robust and tall man - although still shorter than him - with a grey beard and only the remnants of hair crowning his balding head. The old Lord Brax was deep in conversation and it took him a moment to notice the newcomers. Sandor had already jumped from his horse and was about to help Sansa down when the man came to salute him.

 

“Ah! So the woodcutters where no fools after all. We weren’t certain that they hadn’t mistaken someone else for you but I’m pleased to see they didn’t err,” the old lord said stiffly.

 

Sandor grunted and bowed his head slightly.

 

“I welcome you to my house, make yourself comfortable,” Lord Brax went on, a tight smile barely curling his lips. “You’ll have to forgive me though; I have to settle an important matter that really can’t wait. We’ll have the chance to talk later tonight perhaps; until then I’m certain my son will take good care of you.” The man had already turned around when he finished his sentence and he hadn’t even glanced once at Sansa as he talked. At the realisation, Sandor felt the unburned corner of his mouth twist in a pleased smile. If only more males were to do as the old lord did, he might not have so many eyes to tear out in the days to come.

 

Lord Brax was just as Sandor had remembered; polite, obliging and most of all, always eager to aid his Lannister liege lord and his retainers but he wasn’t a very friendly man. _Too bad the trait has skipped a generation_ , Sandor sneered to himself as he glared at the Brax lad. The little bird was glancing around her with apprehension when the man gazed at her again. Wordlessly, he circled her tiny waist and took her from the horse.

 

Her hands nervously gripped his arms as he did so. “Oh, Sandor! Do you think they’ll know? About you, I mean?” she murmured warily while he brought her down.

 

He shook his head slowly. “Everything’s fine, Sansa.” As he spoke, he noticed that she was still clutching at him like a lost child. With a sigh, he stirred his arm to free himself from her grasp and took a step back.

 

As he left her, she smiled timidly at him but her eyes were wide and sad. The sight made something quiver deep down inside him but he only scowled and turned around to join Stranger in an attempt to stop it.

 

“Lady Sansa!” someone called suddenly. From the other side of the yard, the young heir of House Brax was waving a hand at her. He was heading toward them, followed by a middle-aged woman; a servant most likely, judging by the dress she wore.

 

“Lady Sansa, meet Anna. She’ll be helping you settle into the room we’ve given you and show you the old gowns that my sisters left behind when they married. I’m sure a few of them will suit you well enough,” the lad told her as he and the handmaiden flanked the little bird.

 

“We’ll need adjacent rooms,” Sandor rapidly interceded as he interposed himself between Sansa and the Brax boy, Stranger’s reins in hand. “She’s still under my care,” he then added as if to explain himself.

 

“That certainly can be managed. I’m sure we have two neighbouring guest rooms ready to be slept in. Do we, Anna?” he inquired, gazing kindly at the wench.

 

“Yes, m’lord, we do indeed. I’ll lead both of you, m’lady and m’lord,” she proposed, while respectfully looking at both Sandor and his charge.

 

“Bring the… _Lady Sansa_ there first. I’ll take my horse to the stables and find my way on my own afterward,” Sandor rasped, glancing at the dark beast by his side. “That one’s not very friendly with unfamiliar hands. No need calling a squire unless you want to correct him and are looking for some sort of punishment.” He bared his teeth in a smirk at the memory of every stable boy that now wore a scar to remind them of the Hound’s horse.

 

The young man laughed heartily. “Do it yourself, then. I’ll show you the way.”

 

Sandor followed him in silence. He remembered well enough where the stables were from his first visit years ago but judged it useless to intervene; the lad was not likely to leave him alone whatever he said. Some instinct made him jerk his head around to rake his gaze over the yard one last time as he went. Like a magnet, the blue pools of Sansa’s eyes drew his instantly. She was staring at him as the servant woman led her to the entrance and looked as distraught as if he had just abandoned her in the middle of fucking battlefield. Sandor almost immediately averted his eyes from her and barely contained himself from shaking his head in despair. Couldn’t she see that she was safe?

 

Stranger was quickly settled in a loose box and given water and food. Sandor had just begun brushing the stallion when the Brax boy spoke again.

 

“I’d really like for you and Lady Sansa to join me for supper tonight. My lord father is often very busy and it would be a change to have people to talk with for once.”

 

The burned corner of Sandor’s mouth twitched. He had no intention of sharing the little bird with anyone tonight. Especially since it was the last opportunity he was ever likely to get to spend some time alone with her. “I’m sorry but she’s a hostage. I can’t let her wander freely around your castle as if she were a regular guest. She’ll have to eat alone in her room, as she always did when she was in King’s Landing,” he shamelessly lied, keeping his eyes on Stranger’s flank as he spoke.

 

“It’s unheard of to constrain a highborn captive like that, much less a maiden as harmless as Lady Sansa. She wouldn’t be free either, you’d be with her,” the lad argued, a frown on his face.

 

“Order of the king,” Sandor grunted, trying to sound as sorry as he could manage although he truly got some satisfaction in crushing the lad’s hopes. “I’ll be staying in my room too. I need rest.”

 

“As you wish then. I’ll make sure meals and warm water are sent to both of you and make the arrangements for your departure.” The young lord had yielded more easily than Sandor had predicted and for that, the man was extremely grateful.

 

“I thank you, my lord. You can be certain I’ll tell the king of your generosity when I see him next,” Sandor rasped lowly, a slow grin creeping over his lips. He wasn’t really lying; he could always mention the Braxs’ hospitality to Joffrey before Payne chopped his head off if he ever got captured… 

 

****

 

By some improbable miracle Sandor had found, packed in a corner of his saddlebag, a tunic that had not been worn once since his departure from King’s Landing. He had put it aside, chosen his cleanest breeches and given the stinking rest to an old washerwoman. The crone had assured him that it would all be ready on the morrow and thus Sandor had jumped at the opportunity; like it or not, this was likely to be the last chance he would get to launder his garb before he set foot in the Free Cities. 

 

The bath Sandor had taken afterward had been a world away from the ice-cold torture he had endured the previous day and the warm water and soap had easily erased every single buggering blood stain he had cursed over that morning. Now - clean, dry and rested - he lay on his bed with a skin of wine in hand as he waited for the damned meal to be brought up. _Why is it taking so long?_ he kept wondering while he listened to his stomach rumbling its own complaint. He was starving but most of all, Sandor was craving Sansa. At least the wine was good, dark and sour as he liked. It was a relief to drink something other than water for once after days of being completely sober. The thick and delectably strong liquid made the wait more bearable; he could almost forget the cruel proximity of the little bird while it flowed down his throat, but each time his mouth left the wineskin, he was reminded of being on the wrong side of the wall. _Calm down, dog, the evening’s still young,_ he reasoned, tipping his skin to his lips again. Only once the meals were brought up would he rejoin the girl; it wouldn’t do for them to be surprised by servants alone in her chamber. Until then, he’d best learn patience and keep quiet.

 

Just as he was taking another desperate swig of wine, the long-awaited knock resounded against the door. At the sound, Sandor jumped from his bed and opened it instantly. A wench was standing there, a large tray in hand with a plate of steaming food sitting over it. She looked terrified when she saw him, however Sandor barely eyed her; his attention had been grasped by the little bird’s door, which was ajar, and he couldn’t have cared less for the scarecrow that waited before him. As he snatched the tray from the wench’s shaking grip, another servant woman exited the girl’s room and shut the door behind her. Only then did Sandor lower his eyes to the anxious woman before him.

 

“You won’t be needed tonight. You may both go,” he informed her sharply.

 

Standing on the doorstep, he watched the wenches as they trailed down the stairway and pricked up his ears until he couldn’t discern a single footstep. Once silence was complete again, he closed his door as best he could with his hands full and leaped the short distance that separated him from the girl’s room.

 

“Little bird, let me in,” he then demanded.

 

His side leaning against the door, the man listened to the softness of her steps as she strode toward him. “Sandor!” she exclaimed as she opened the door for him. Her smiling face was like an apparition in the slit of the door; the cream of her skin was so stunning against the deep redness of her mane and her lips, pink and full… _She looks tired though,_ Sandor remarked. Her usual big, bright eyes were reddened and small and lacked the vivacity he had become accustomed to. _She’s probably fallen asleep while waiting for the food,_ he concluded. _Red eyes on not, she’s still the prettiest thing I’ve ever had the chance to behold, not to mention kiss and fondle,_ the man decided, smirking while he pushed the door completely open with his shoulder.  Quickly, he entered and settled his tray on a large table close by the window. The chamber the Braxs had given Sansa was very much like his own, Sandor judged as he swept his stare over its length. It was roomy, with a fireplace, a small dining space and a bed in its corner. Against his will, his gaze lingered over the bed a little longer than was necessary but he hastily shook himself and looked elsewhere.

 

The little bird had shut the door and was slowly approaching him when Sandor set his eyes upon her again. Her slim body was covered with a loose, white nightgown that was nothing if not modest but something about the pure, virginal aura it gave her aroused him instantly. The girl herself was manifestly abashed to be seen thus; her face was all flushed and she was hugging herself in a vain attempt to conceal the _inappropriateness_ of her clothes.

 

“I’m not dressed properly… I didn’t think you would come-”

 

“Really?” He snorted. Did she truly believe he wouldn’t seek her? “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve seen you in far more revealing gowns back in King’s Landing.” He had meant his words to reassure her but the girl’s cheeks only seemed to grow hotter when she heard them.

 

Smirking at her oh-so-delightful timidity, Sandor caught her by the wrists and drew her toward him. When she was near enough, he snaked a strong hand around her waist and cupped her cheek with the other. The fabric of her nightgown was thinner than it had appeared, Sandor marvelled. He could almost feel her skin through the fine cloth. Grunting with desire, he let his fingers travel from her side to the small of her back and then to her ribs, eager to explore this new closeness. The girl immediately surrendered to his touch and moaned softly; she was melting into him faster than snow thrown over a burning brazier. The side of her head was leaning into his palm, her chin up in a mouth-watering offering of white skin and Sandor’s eyes roved over the deliciousness of her throat with building hunger. Her neck was so thin – like all the rest of her- and it moved with each breath she took. Mouth wide open, Sandor took it between his teeth and bit lightly. To his infinite pleasure, the girl gasped aloud. _I’d best stop,_ Sandor mused against his own will as he gently pushed her away. It was that or having her for dinner instead of the food that waited on the table.

 

“Let’s eat, Sansa,” he rasped as he led her to the table. It pained him to leave such willing prey but he was indeed hungry and the sooner the meal was over with, the sooner he could return his attention to her. He’d make the most of their last evening alone afterward and see how far she was willing to let him go, he reflected, gazing at her arse as she sat down. She hadn’t even tried to flee from him last night after all, when she’d been sitting over his stiffened shaft…

 

“This looks really good,” the little bird said with a faint smile as she glanced at her meal.

 

_Indeed_ , the man mused, eyes roving over her curves. The redness of her eyes hadn’t faded, Sandor noticed when he had succeeded at last in raising his stare to her face. Her smile didn’t seem as genuine as it normally did either. _Tired_ , he concluded as he took his place in front of her.

 

They ate in silence, him as fast as a starving man, her so _very_ slowly. The food was good though; fresh partridge with a mix of turnips and greens but the girl was still pushing her food around her plate as a child would when he finished his. “If you don’t like it, I’ll eat it for you,” Sandor threatened before taking a long swig of his wine.

 

Without an ounce of hesitation, the little bird pushed her plate over to him. Sandor grabbed it immediately and made short work of its contents. He wouldn’t waste good food and furthermore, he was still hungry. Sansa was absentmindedly staring at him when he finally tossed his fork over the table. Meeting her eyes, he gazed at her for a long moment, admiring how the flat line of her lips gradually curled into a smile under his attention. _There_ , Sandor thought with satisfaction when her face had lost all of its previous melancholy. The man drank in the sight of her for some time but then a realisation shook him. He was alone, in a room with a bloody _featherbed_ , with the prettiest maiden he’d ever seen… and he would soon be losing her forever. Sandor wasn’t about to think about that just now though –he’d have the rest of his useless life to lament it. No, tonight was the time to take _everything_ he could possibly get from her. He’d sip _every_ _single_ drop she would allow him to squeeze out of her and there was not a minute to spare.

 

Grinning, Sandor rose and walked around the table. Her eyes wide, the girl braced herself with apprehension as she watched him approach and gasped when he hoisted her over his shoulder, no warning given. She liked being carried, didn’t she? He’d indulge her tonight, Sandor mused, grin broadening. The girl’s soft slippers had fallen from her feet and as he strode to the bed, the lace at the fringe of her dress was flying over her ankles. Ineluctably, Sandor’s eyes were drawn to the soft shapes of her feet, covered by white silken stockings. Of its own accord, his free hand grabbed one and his fingers enveloped it completely.

 

He was already hard as a rock when he threw her onto the bed but he would need to control himself if he didn’t want to scare her off right away. He planned on going as far as she would allow him tonight, however this would only be achieved by going as slowly as he could manage. Patience was what would allow him to push her limits the farthest. Evidently, a highborn maiden like her was far from likely to give herself completely to anyone but her buggering husband on her wedding night but Sandor could think of a few other things they might do…

 

As she landed on the bed, the little bird squeaked so _very_ beautifully. Her cheeks were crimson and her eyes wide as she tried to sit up but Sandor wasn’t able to stop himself from pushing her down again and getting on top of her. In shock, she opened her mouth to speak - without success - as Sandor immediately kissed her while sliding a hand over her flat stomach and ribs. He paused to lick and bite the paleness of her neck; his hand was almost getting to her breasts-

 

“Oh, Sandor… Sandor, please… we need to talk…” the little bird suddenly implored, her frail hands pushing at his shoulders.

 

Perplexed, but most of all annoyed, the man rose slightly from her. “About what?” he managed to grunt.

 

The blue of Sansa’s eyes was gleaming in the dimness of the room. She bit her lip, bleakness rising in her. “Tomorrow, we won’t be alone anymore… and soon, with the exchange, we’ll be parted-”

 

“I know that, Sansa, trust me,” Sandor cut her off with irritation. That was _exactly_ the reason why he wanted to talk as little as possible and act _as much_ as he could but he couldn’t tell her that. Instead, he dipped his head down and tried to kiss her.

 

The girl cocked her head and avoided him just in time. “Please, Sandor! Don’t you want to listen to what I have to say to you?” she asked in a small, pleading voice, her distress plain.

 

Sighing, the man rolled on his side and laid narrowed eyes on her. “I’m listening,” he rasped dryly.

 

The little bird wasn’t smiling at all at that instant. Gone was her usual grin but she didn’t look mad either, only sad. She was hesitant and kept silent for some time - precious time they didn’t _bloody_ have! “Starting tomorrow, we won’t be alone anymore,” she began at last. “I thought we still had a few days ahead of us, all by ourselves before we met with my family but we won’t. I’ve thought about this all afternoon! What will become of you once the exchange is done? Don’t you think that… that…” She paused. “Sandor… I… I’d like you to become my sworn shield… I’ll ask my mother and-”

 

Sandor snorted in disbelief. “Your sworn shield?”

 

A shy smile crept over the little bird’s pretty face. “Yes… would you like that?” she asked timidly.

 

Slowly shaking his head, Sandor stared at her with a mix of incredulity and annoyance. Was she out of her _fucking_ mind? After a long wordless moment, he snapped. “The bloody question is not if I’d like to be your _sworn shield_ or not, Sansa.” Breathing in, he then uttered a brief and exasperated laugh, devoid of any joy. “Are you truly naïve enough to believe that your family would allow _that_? Tell me?” he hissed afterwards, more irked than touched by the unrealistic proposition.

 

Sansa’s eyes were fluttering and she had backed away from him, all the muscles of her lithe body tense. He hadn’t been able to control his outburst and now he regretted it of course, but how was he supposed to keep his composure when she expressed such _stupid_ things?! Sandor didn’t know what to do with himself because the impossibility of the situation angered him so much.

 

The girl was perhaps innocent as a newborn but she wasn’t a fool either; she undoubtedly realised something she had said had ruffled him the wrong way. She waited an instant, eyes lowered but finally regained the courage to speak up. “No, of course. I do know you’re right… I’ve thought about this too…” she murmured in the smallest of voices. Raising her eyes to gaze at him, the little bird continued. “My family would not agree at first… but I’m sure I could make them see-”

 

Sandor glowered even more. This was just _too_ much. Was he supposed to share her _idiotic_ dreams and hope for what was _fucking_ inconceivable too? Did she truly think he believed in fairies and valiant knights also? “You want to make them see? What exactly, Sansa? That I’m an ugly, murderous dog?” he mocked in a snarl, rage rising in him like water threatening to boil over. He breathed in but it did nothing to calm his temper.

 

Sansa’s eyes were filling with tears. “No, of course not!” she almost sobbed.

 

“Then what, little bird? Tell me? That I’m hard for you? Uh?! Is that it?” he asked, dragging her toward him so that she pressed against the hardness of his shaft. She yelped and he got a cruel satisfaction from her dismay.

 

“Sandor, stop it! Please!” she exclaimed. She tried to shove him away, without success.

 

Her eyes were lowered and she was clutching at the cloth of his tunic, scared and probably wishing she had never met him at all. _Good for her._ She had to learn something from all this.

 

Her sweet voice took him out of the darkness of his brooding as abruptly as the sun appearing after a storm on a summer’s day. “All I want is for us to be together, don’t you understand?” she murmured, two lone tears rolling down her cheeks.

 

Their sight instantly cooled the wrath in him and he felt _something_ stir inside him, deeply buried at the bottom of his core. The sensation was queer, painful even but also… tempting, so very tempting. What had she said? _Together?_ He raised his fingers and dried the wetness on her face. Had she _really_ said she desired to be with him? Whatever the fuck _that_ meant?

 

“Together, you said?” he _lamentably_ repeated.

 

“Yes,” the girl answered, a vacillating smile forming on her lips.

 

_She wants to be with me._ The idea was too absurd to intellectualize, however a part of Sandor that knew no logic was threatening to take control. Something had lit in him, his eyes had opened wide and the troubling movement in his core was increasing dangerously. It hurt but something about it was enticing, so enticing that he ended up capitulating and allowed it to be, if only for a brief instant.

 

He should never have permitted it. _Never_ , but it was already too late when he realised the scale of his mistake. Like a valve, Sandor’s restraint broke before he even knew it and then he lost it completely. Unable to stop himself, the words were out of his mouth sooner than he could even think. “Come with me, Sansa,” he rasped with more passion than he was aware he had in him. In one swift movement, Sandor had rolled closer to the little bird and buried his hand in her hair, around the back of her head. “We don’t have to go to the exchange. It’s not too late,” he continued, with the same _pathetic_ fervour. “Flee with me tonight and we’ll cross the NarrowSea, go live in the Free Cities. Together.” Was it really him talking that nonsense?

 

Sansa’s lips parted in stupefaction. “But what will Lord Brax think?” she breathed so softly that he could barely make out what she said.

 

“Lord Brax?” Sandor snorted. “I’ll kill him if needs be,” he added, fingers stroking the girl’s face. All his pride forgotten, the man pleaded to her like the most pitiable wreck he could think of, “Come with me, little bird. I’m begging you.”

 

Eyes shining with emotion, Sansa murmured, “But my family-”

 

“A girl can’t stay with her family forever. Sooner or later, you’ll have to leave them.” Sandor had perhaps lost every shred of dignity he had ever managed to keep but there was no stopping him now. He felt like a man trapped in a black cell for years that had finally glimpsed the sun from afar after an eternity of total darkness. 

 

Clearly bewildered, the little bird seemed to hesitate and Sandor kissed her, foolishly hoping that it would help her make up her mind in his favour.

 

The girl’s arms had climbed around his neck and her lips and tongue were as hungry as his. They barely had time to breathe but they still continued on. Sandor was on his elbow, one hand lost in the thickness of the girl’s hair, the other grabbing one of her fine teats. She gasped but let him do it. It was too perfect to be true. The prospect that she might become his _in truth_ was gleaming in the background as the most alluring delusion and all the while, she was _seemingly_ inclined in allowing him to do whatever he pleased with her. Naught had ever been so perfect. Was Sandor hallucinating it all? He pressed his cock against her just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming - but _he wasn’t_ \- and by some miracle, he felt himself grow even harder although he wouldn’t have believed it possible. Overwhelmed by lust, Sandor backed away from the little bird – his little bird - and got on his side, rising just enough to catch her ankle with his hand.

 

“Come with me, Sansa,” he muttered as he brushed his fingers up her calf from under her nightgown. She looked about to say something – a protest maybe - but Sandor kissed her just in case he might not like what she said. The hope she had given him was too fucking beautiful to be destroyed. He was torn between his need to know and his fear of knowing. “Come,” Sandor despairingly rasped again once he left her lips.

 

His fingers were gripping the hem of her stocking over the deliciousness of her thigh, ready to bring it down when she breathed the accursed words he was praying to the gods he didn’t _even_ bloody believe in she wouldn’t. “No… no… Sandor, no…” she said.

 

“No? No what?” the man rasped frantically, hand still clamped over her thigh. “That…” he pressed his fingers over the soft skin, “Or ‘no’… to come with me?” he asked with barely-hidden apprehension. Never had he heard his own voice sound so damnably pitiable. He couldn’t stand being so weak, contempt was consuming him… but still he waited for her answer with hope. Everything about that moment of expectation was as intolerable as it was exhilarating.

 

Evidently as lost as him, Sansa reflected for what appeared to be an eternity. “I don’t know…”she whispered after some time. Shutting her eyes, she frowned and her face became taut with concentration. Just as Sandor was about to lose his mind completely, the little bird opened her eyes and finally answered. “No, Sandor. We can’t go like that,” she said.

 

In the blink of an eye, everything crumbled. Sighing heavily, Sandor narrowed his eyes at the girl. Had he been dreaming all this? _Looks like you did, stupid dog._

 

Then, as winter was always certain to come once summer had died, the chirping started again. “I’m sure I can convince my mother, Sandor. I know I can. We can’t just flee! We have to go to the exchange as planned… but then I’ll make sure you stay with me, you can count on that,” she cried as she sat up and modestly drew her legs under her, away from Sandor’s grasp.

 

Exactly as the most perfect of dreams inevitably slips between one’s fingers when the sun rises, reality violently hit Sandor at that precise instant. Words: that was all she would ever give him; it was also all she had ever wished to extort from him. Now that she had ripped the _confessions_ and _pleas_ out of him, that she had seen him crawl at her feet, he lost all interest in her eyes and she was retreating. The little bird had reached her goal, hadn’t she? She wouldn’t come with him, no matter what he promised her. He’d been a bloody _halfwit_ to believe she’d choose otherwise. He’d been an even bigger fool to let her know he dreamed of possessing her. Sandor should _never_ have let himself go as he had just done. She’d seen him in a far too vulnerable place, he realised with sudden anger. The girl had had a glimpse of the fullness of his passion for her, of something meant for _no one’s_ eyes, not even his.

 

The little bird was indeed a kitten playing with a mouse; she had caught Sandor so well in her claws that he had not even noticed she had overpowered him. Sansa Stark would _never_ be his, _never_ flee with him and _never_ give herself to him. She had never so much as intended any of these. Perhaps - and even probably - she had no true notion of what she had just achieved. It was merely female instinct that had pushed her to act so, to impel him to willingly open up, his insides bloodied in front of her for the sole purpose of her distraction. Men hunted animals and other men but these were the triumphs women enjoyed. Her first _trophy_ : that’s what Sandor was. Sansa had not acted with cruelty in mind, or mayhap even consciously, however she had done it and he despised her for it. Sandor hated being anyone’s victim.

 

Red with anger, he glared at her as she sat demurely at the edge of the bed, far too pure for him. He couldn’t possibly dirty that _perfection_ with his filthy hands. How had he ever believed she would allow him to? This had been all a play. He should show her his wrath, show her what happened when you teased a man so and then he’d leave her broken and bloodied and alone. She’d learn her lesson once her maidenhead was no more than a stain on the white sheets of her featherbed. He’d flee _this_ night for the Free Cities and let the buggering Braxs clean up the _fucking_ mess for him afterwards.

 

His blood pumping, Sandor considered it for the space of a few breaths until he remembered his faults and the depth of his own guilt. Hadn’t he been aware of what he was involving himself with ever since it all started? Hadn’t he jumped eagerly and _knowingly_ into the little bird’s game, happy to get whatever scraps she’d throw him? She had given him far more than he had ever predicted but now he was complaining because he couldn’t have it all… If truth be told, _he_ was the real predator, not her.

 

Still, the knowledge of his misdeeds was not enough to soothe him completely. He did feel disgusted by his own actions and his dissolute ways but most of all, he was infuriated with himself, that he had enabled anyone to grab so much control over him. He wasn’t supposed to be _that_ weak. Perhaps the best course of action was to flee, to never look back and forget – if possible – about all this. He’d finish what he had started of course - bringing the girl to her family but then he’d disappear as soon as she was safely behind her mother’s skirts again.

 

Suddenly determined, Sandor stood up, scowling, and grabbed his wineskin. Without a word, he headed for the door and gave the girl one last glance.

 

Transfixed, the little bird was staring at him with big, puzzled eyes. “Sandor, where are you going?” she cried out in a high-pitched voice, tears rolling down her cheeks.

 

She wouldn’t get him this time. Never would Sandor fall for tears again, or anything women did _whatsoever_. He didn’t answer her imploring calls and slammed the door behind him, intent on drowning himself in wine.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> New chapter, hope you’ll enjoy!

Anna, the Braxs’ handmaiden, woke Sansa a little after dawn. With well–practiced movements, she opened the curtains and aired the chamber while Sansa sleepily sat at the edge of her bed, rubbing her eyes. The woman had brought with her a bowl of steaming milk and a large piece of honeyed bread which Sansa glared at for some time. The very sight of food made her stomach turn.  _I need to eat, I have a long day before me,_ she reflected as she stood up and dutifully walked to the table. She had barely absorbed anything yesterday after all, when the Hound had been with her… _Oh Sandor,_ Sansa sighed sadly to herself, heart aching.

 

Reluctantly, she slowly but determinedly broke her fast until the tray was completely empty of food. She did feel slightly better with her belly full, she realised later as she let Anna dress her in a dark green velvet gown.

 

“Lady Sophia was quite a bit older than you when she left the Westerlands to marry but you’re filling her gown as nicely as she did,” the maid commented, her hands busily tightening the laces at Sansa’s back. The garb had seen better days, judging by the worn patches of its skirt but its quality was undeniable. “The color is perfect for you. Really goes well with your skin and hair, m’lady.”

 

She did look pretty in dark green, Sansa admitted to herself as she admired her reflection in the large mirror that adorned the wall; however her beauty was diminished by the redness of her eyes and the dull, puffy skin that surrounded them. _I look so tired_ , she mused with despair but the old maid was apparently not agreeing with her.

 

“You’re very beautiful, m’lady. Sit here; I’ll brush that thick hair of yours,” she said in a motherly tone while gently pushing Sansa into a large cushioned chair.

 

Obediently, the young girl settled herself and shut her eyes, letting the pleasant feeling of the wooden brush soothe her for a short time as it combed through her wild curls.

 

“This is a very important day for you, m’lady. You’re going to be reunited with your family! I would be so happy if I were you,” the old maiden joyfully told her as she began to braid the long hair.

 

Sansa was so drained, she didn’t even have the energy to explain that Hornvale was more than a day’s ride from the Golden Tooth and that she would therefore most likely not be with her family for another two or three days but what would be the use anyway?

 

“I am indeed excited, Anna. I thank you,” Sansa recited with fake enthusiasm. _I should be happy… How can I be so morose when I’m so near my year-long dream?_

Biting her lip, Sansa lowered her gaze on her anxious hands. She did know the answer to that question. _Sandor…_ She couldn’t lose him.

 

Her previous evening with the Hound had been a total disaster… To begin with, she had been sick with worry as soon as she and Sandor had met with Lord Richard Brax. The notion that the Hound’s treason might be uncovered had truly terrified her and she had held her breath all the way to the castle. Thankfully, it had soon been evident that the Braxs were ignorant on the matter, yet another worry had shortly replaced the previous one at the head of Sansa’s list. Lord Richard, in his blind generosity, had offered to provide them with an escort to the Golden Tooth. _How could Sandor have accepted?_ Sansa had wondered from the moment she had grasped what it meant. Hadn’t he realised that their days of intimacy would be as good as over if he did? _Lord Richard didn’t give him much of a choice_ , Sansa reasoned, although she was still slightly bitter that he hadn’t fought harder to be rid of these unwanted additions to their party. Once at the castle, Anna had led her to her chamber, away from Sandor and Sansa had waited long hours for him, struggling not to shed tears whenever she remembered how their situation had so cruelly been transformed almost in the blink of an eye. One moment, they had been two lovers secluded from the rest of the universe and the next, they had been surrounded by strangers and compelled to act as if they were no more than a prisoner and her gaoler. She needed to talk to him and badly before their departure on the morrow! Both of them would have to agree on their plan of action, she believed, so that once the exchange took place they’d be on the same page. _I was so certain he would agree to become my sworn shield and trust me to convince my family… but naught went well again._

Reality wasalways so much harsher than dreams and while the Hound might have become her knight, he was still the same rabid beast she had always known him to be. Only broaching the subject of their _future_ had proven a challengeto Sansa. As much as she loved him, she still felt intimidated by his imposing presence and she had been fearful of his reaction, with excellent reasons she had learned. The well thought out words she had repeated to herself all afternoon had all escaped her mind when she had finally gotten his attention and she had used the language of a stupid child instead. No wonder he had spurned her idea as soon as he had heard it, temper rising. His response had affected her so that she had not been able to hold back her tears, only then the weirdest thing had arisen. All of a sudden, the Hound’s mood had dramatically changed and he was asking her to follow him to the Free Cities, begging even… She had been so completely overwhelmed by the intensity and urgency in his voice, by the passion of his caresses and kisses that she had almost said yes, that she had been ready for a dizzying moment to surrender herself to him completely – body and soul but then she had remembered how close she was to Riverrun’s doorstep. How could she flee just now, when she had almost reached the goal she had so desperately prayed for over more than a year? She had longed for the safety of her mother’s arms for moons and moons; she couldn’t possibly turn back now! Her destiny was with her family and she also had a duty to fulfill in the North. How could she flee across the Narrow Sea in these conditions? They could not desert like that, she had thought, and thus she had tried once more to bring the Hound to understand but he had been stubborn as a dog holding a bone between its teeth and hadn’t given _one inch_ of his previous resolution. Even worse, Sandor had become blank and unresponsive and put distance between them, glaring in her direction for Sansa didn’t know how long before abruptly abandoning her.

 

It was still so early when he had left and thus Sansa had had _hours_ to spend by herself, crying miserably and hugging herself while she should’ve been cradled in her protector’s arms. Many times, she had considered joining him in his room and attempting to explain herself once more but she had never gathered the courage to face him. _I probably should have gone,_ she thought regretfully; Sansa was distressingly afraid that she might not have the chance to pick up the pieces before they left the castle. Was Sandor still mad at her? _He has probably taken my refusal to follow him as rejection... Was it a mistake on my part? Will I come to bewail my choice if I lose him because of this? I love him… I need him!_ Still, Sansa could not truly regret the decision she had made; her place was with her family after all. _And the Hound’s place is by my side, with me_ and _them._ In spite of what he had said, Sansa was still convinced that she could persuade her mother that Sandor was worthy enough to be her sworn shield; the only problem was that she had to sway him first…

 

“You’re all set, m’lady,” the maid suddenly announced, taking Sansa out of her musing.

 

“I thank you, Anna. I think I’ll go wait outside in the yard for my escort to be ready. I… I need some air.”

 

“That’s good, m’lady. Farewell!” the woman said warmly as she began to gather the linens from the bed.

 

“Farewell to you too, Anna,” Sansa responded while opening the door and striding out of the room.

 

She had hoped that Sandor might still be in his chamber but that had been a foolish notion; he was not the kind of man to linger in bed longer than necessary. His door was wide open when she reached it, exposing its cruel emptiness to her eyes. She stood on its step for a moment, not sure why, gazing at nothing in particular until something caught her eyes. On the small table next to the bed, the Hound’s infamous helm was settled in such a way that she almost felt that it was staring straight back at her. Some incomprehensible impulse drove her toward it and she slowly walked in its direction. Carefully, she began caressing it with the tip of her fingers, tracing the lines of its mean-looking snarl.  

 

“What are you doing?” the Hound’s rasping voice resounded from behind her. Sansa jumped and turned around, flushed and as guilty-looking as if she had been caught stealing gold from his purse.

 

“I… I was searching for you,” she answered, nervous and gawping.

 

Sandor snorted. “Well, here I am,” he said mockingly, a smirk on his face as he slowly approached her.

 

His voice sounded queer, Sansa noticed, even his walk was somewhat less assured than usual. _He… he looks drunk!_ she realised with stupefaction, eyes grown wide. Had he been drinking all night? She instinctively took a step backward, almost falling over the bed when she bumped into it.

 

Her evident consternation appeared to amuse him. “Never seen a drunken man before, little bird?” he scoffed, sniggering roughly. “You were looking for me, weren’t you?” the man added, suddenly serious. “Speak,” he ordered dryly, slowly stepping toward her.

 

Sansa’s bottom lip trembled for an instant but then she took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “Sandor, please! Don’t be angry… I’m so sorry for yesterday, I-”

 

“Stop that, Sansa,” he cut her, face darkening and voice as sharp as valyrian steel. “You know you don’t have a single _fucking_ thing to reproach yourself for.”

 

They were now less than an arm’s length from each other and Sansa could smell the wine on his breath. It didn’t repel her though; all she desired was to jump into his arms but she was too frightened that he might reject her. “But then… why did you leave so abruptly?” she asked instead in a tremulous whisper.

 

Jaw clenched, Sandor glared down at her, mouth twitching slightly and eyes narrowed with contempt. They both stood in place for a long and awkward moment until the Hound finally broke the silence with a grunt and shook his head. “Let’s forget about that _bloody_ affair, girl. We need be going now,” he hissed, irritation plain, before he walked away from Sansa and went to grab his helm.

 

Without thinking, the girl threw herself at him, hands clutching at his armour. “No, Sandor! Please, listen to me!” she cried out.

 

Eyes wide, the Hound stared down at her with evident shock. “Hush, girl! Do you want to alert the whole _buggering_ castle or what?” he rasped lowly, hands raised to her shoulders, more to push her away than to comfort her. “What would the Braxs think if they caught you clinging at me like that?” he asked, his fingers digging painfully into her upper arms as he kept her at a safe distance from him.

 

Sansa didn’t know how to answer. She was shocked by the intensity of her own response and felt pathetic for acting so very unladylike, but at the same time the pang in her heart was so agonizing that she had had no way to control herself. Shame was creeping up on her now and her cheeks were burning red. Sansa dared not look at Sandor just then; she kept her gaze lowered, willing the warm tears that were pooling in her eyes to stay in place but it was no use of course.

 

Sighing deeply, the Hound appeared to relax. He snorted and began talking again, this time less harshly. “Look at you, crying again,” he muttered with some annoyance as he removed his hands from Sansa’s arms. Warm calloused fingers brushed against her face and the young girl instantly jerked her head up, her eyes popping open. “Shhh, you’ll be fine, little bird. No need to weep. I’m bringing you back home, remember?” Sandor murmured flatly, a mix of resignation, mockery and gentleness in his voice while drying the wetness on her cheeks.

 

The gesture was everything Sansa had hoped for ever since yesterday when he had left her room but instead of giving her strength, it broke her down completely and her quiet tears abruptly morphed into sobs. “Oh, Sandor!” she cried as she reached for him. The Hound didn’t reject her this time. His arms went snaking around her, one circling her waist, the other grabbing her over the shoulders, hand in her hair. They stayed like that for a long, long time and didn’t move so much as an inch until their peace was abruptly disturbed by the sound of footstep resounding in the corridor. Immediately, the Hound pushed Sansa from him and swept his gaze around himself as if he was hoping for a way out. There weren’t any, evidently and thus he went to retrieve his helm instead.

 

“Seven bloody Hells,” he hissed between his teeth just before the door opened.

 

The same retainer they had met on the road the previous day appeared on its step. His eyes grew wide when his stare fell on Sansa but he didn’t dare say a word about the impropriety of the situation. “Everything is set, Clegane. We’re all ready to go,” he declared uneasily after a moment of hesitation.

 

“That’s good,” the Hound answered without real enthusiasm. His features were unreadable when he turned toward Sansa. “Come, girl. Let’s not lose more time.”

 

Too shaken to disobey, Sansa wordlessly followed. Anyhow, she really couldn’t talk before this stranger. _What must he be thinking?_ she wondered, horrified.

 

Four men were waiting for them in the yard apart from Lord Richard when they arrived. Todd, the retainer that had just surprised them was also to be part of their escort and thus they would be seven in total including Sansa. _Now, I truly won’t have any chance to speak to Sandor again,_ she realised with apprehension, struggling to keep calm as she ought to. 

 

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Sansa, although I didn’t have the honour to speak to you very much. Perhaps one day, when the war is over, we’ll find an occasion to meet again under better circumstances,” Lord Brax declared pleasantly.

 

“Perhaps. Farewell, my lord,” she answered humbly, eyes lowered.

 

“Farewell, Lady Sansa,” the man replied, kissing her hand.

 

Without a word of warning, Sandor slid his hands around Sansa’s waist and lifted her onto the back of the horse the Braxs were lending her. She tried to catch his eyes as he did so but he didn’t so much as glance back at her. Biting her lip, the girl was beginning to lose hope that he would ever give her a single sign that he cared for her again when she felt one of his hands linger against her side and discreetly stroke her there. His fingers were gone before Sansa had the time to smile but the gesture was enough to warm her heart and give her a whole new strength. She watched the Hound with emotion as he jumped on Stranger’s saddle and a moment later, their group was out of the yard and moving toward the Golden Tooth in silence.

 

 

****

 

It had been three long days of intense riding but the last part of Sansa’s journey across the realm was now almost complete. With every passing minute, the Golden Tooth was getting nearer and the grins of the men of Sansa’s escort broader. Only an hour separated them from the place, or so the Braxs’ retainers kept repeating with newfound enthusiasm. Sansa herself was torn between excitement at seeing her family and intense anxiety about what was to become of her protector. She and Sandor still hadn’t had the occasion to clear up their disagreement and concur on a plan to follow once they got to the exchange point. On the other hand, she had caught him staring at her more than once, mostly late at night when everyone was asleep and they even had shared a few secret touches but that was certainly not enough to reassure her completely about his intentions. What if he fled before she got the chance to plead in his favour? He had to trust her, trust that she could convince her mother and brother to give him a place among them but how could she make him understand when they never had a moment to themselves? That was her torment and she had had no cure against it ever since they left Hornvale.

 

Now, each minute was stumbling into the next and the pressure was building in her like a fire ready to implode. Notwithstanding all that, Sansa had managed to construct some sort of a plan. It wasn’t a very elaborate one - she had never been the crafty type - but with the help of the gods she _infinitely_ counted upon she had good hopes that everything would work out fine. After all, simplicity was the most honest of allies, her father had once told her. Rapidity would nevertheless be needed in order to succeed and therefore as soon as she got to the meeting place, Sansa would immediately seek her mother and beg her for a private moment to speak. She knew the words and arguments that would persuade her best and had recited them inwardly more times than she could count. Wouldn’t the Hound be an asset for the whole North with his inside knowledge of the enemy? Wouldn’t he be the fiercest protector a maiden could ever dream of having? Almost obsessively, Sansa kept reconstructing the sentences she would use and replaying the oncoming events in her mind as she figured they should take place, brooding over them, turning them upside down… it was getting dizzying as much as it was recurrent but there was no stopping her. Her mind was spinning with anticipation.

 

“We’re getting there, I think,” a man suddenly declared as Sansa was trying to figure out for the thousandth time how her lady mother would react to her request.

 

Too distracted by her musing, Sansa had not seen time fly and so she instantly jumped into her saddle and anxiously peered before her when she heard the call. Squinting against the sun, she glimpsed a gathering of soldiers hidden behind a line of trees. They were still far but not enough that she could not discern the group. They were less than a hundred to be sure; still, their number was imposing in contrast to her own meagre escort. As was to be expected of a secret mission such as theirs, no banners were visible anywhere but there was no mistaking that Sansa and the Braxs’ men had reached their objective. _Here we are,_ she reflected, her excitement clouded by no negligible measure of dread. Taking a deep breath, she jerked her head around to gaze one last time at Sandor. If she had hoped to gather some courage from him, she was cruelly disillusioned; the man didn’t as much as glance her way. She would need to find the strength she desperately needed inside herself and nowhere else.

 

It took less than a minute before Sansa’s group, no matter how small, was spotted by the larger one. Hostile gazes turned toward them, quickly followed by a general movement of the crowd. In a heartbeat, they were surrounded almost threateningly by the large and noisy party and Sansa - although those people were her own - felt as insecure as if she were a Westerlander herself and about to be taken by foes. The din was overwhelming; horses were snorting, neighing and turning around nervously while their masters tried to control them with violent pulls of their reins. Confusion was mingling with the shattering impression of entrapment in the most unpleasant fashion and Sansa was starting to feel as panicked as a caged animal. _A caged bird,_ she distractedly corrected herself. Thankfully, not a man made to attack and it became clear after several moments of fear that no ill would befall them. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was thick with animosity; the two groups of men were shamelessly gauging the force of the other as any mortal enemies would do. After what appeared like an eternity, the movement of the press receded and all the beasts became quiet again. Every man was silent as a grave and waiting. _Where are they?_ Sansa wondered, while sweeping her gaze over the soldiers in desperate search of her mother or brother. Fear that these weren’t her family’s bannermen after all and that they had fallen into a trap was just beginning to creep over her when the crowd opened to let a small group of riders pass. In its center, a middle-aged man garbed in black scale armour stood proud and tall over his mount.

 

“Sansa!” he exclaimed with undeniable relief as he halted his horse. “You don’t know me, but I’ve heard plenty of you. You probably also have a notion of who I am…”

 

She did. _The Blackfish!_ Sansa realised, smiling genuinely for the first time on that day.It was undoubtedly her great uncle; her mother had told her so much about him! She had to hold herself back from jumping from her horse and running to him even though she had never met him before. As much as the notion of family was enticing after moons of loneliness at the Red Keep, where were her mother and brother?

 

“You must be my great uncle, Brynden Tully. I know the love my lady mother has for you, but… if you don’t mind me saying so, I can’t help but wonder where she is.”

 

The Blackfish smiled sadly at her. “A lot of things have taken place lately. A few of which I prefer not to discuss before your escort. Anyhow, I think I can inform you of my brother– your grandfather’s - sickness. He’s rapidly perishing and soon the Stranger will come for him. Lady Catelyn didn’t have the heart to leave Riverrun in such times although she truly wished to be here for you. Your brother the king was also unfortunately not able to make it but they both sent me to welcome you back. I hope you’re not too disappointed. They nonetheless should be all in Riverrun when we get there and you can rest assured that they’ll be eagerly waiting for your return.”

 

“Oh, I see,” Sansa whispered, barely masking her dejection. Life was as it was and she could surely understand that other more important matters had manifested themselves. Still this was unsettling. For so long she had dreamed of that reunion and never had it occurred to her that her mother wouldn’t be there to witness it. She was about to accept the situation, when her eyes widened in horror. _But then if my mother’s not here, how will I ever manage to plead on Sandor’s behalf?!_

“This is all good,” yelled Todd from behind her before she even had a chance to utter a single word. “However, where’s Jaime Lannister? No exchange can occur without him!”

 

“You’re right,” answered the Blackfish with some annoyance. “Bring the Kingslayer!” he ordered wryly while turning his horse around to face his men.

 

The crowd opened again and another group of riders strode toward them, a mounted prisoner held tightly in its center. Sansa had seen the man before; he had always been so beautiful and graceful to her, the very image of the knights from the songs. Now, he was dirty and ragged, a sandy blond beard covering his face but he managed to keep some grace and dignity, even tied to his horse as he was.

 

“Here he is. All in one piece. You can even count his teeth if you like,” Brynden Tully mockingly proposed for everyone to hear. The Westerlanders were grinning, evidently pleased and therefore, the Blackfish continued. “I surmise everyone is satisfied. We may proceed and go our separate ways if you all agree,” he added, looking around.

 

At that moment, Sansa’s mouth opened to protest but the words were stuck in her throat. _What am I to do to stop this?!_ she wondered in utter alarm. She couldn’t supplicate anyone. She had never even encountered her great uncle _once_ before. How could she ever convince him in such a situation? All her carefully planned out schemes were crumbing once again.

 

The Tully men were starting to push Jaime Lannister forward and Sansa’s escort was approaching her when a shout was heard from behind them.

 

“Hold on!” a hoarse voice yelled. Everyone froze and turned around to see the Hound advancing toward the Blackfish. “I was asked by King Joffrey to bring Lady Sansa to her family, which had meant her mother or her brother but not you, _Blackfish_.”

 

Sansa’s great uncle’s face twisted in displeasure. “The Kingslayer’s here and we’ve got Lady Sansa, so I don’t see your complaint, Hound,” he snapped, obviously annoyed. People were whispering around them, some obviously content to witness the altercation, some anxious that the exchange was about to sour.

 

“I had a mission. _Bring the Stark girl to her brother or mother_ , they told me. He’s not here, neither is she. I can’t let Lady Sansa go in these conditions.”

 

The Blackfish sighed, disbelief plain. “So what are we to do then? Wait for them to appear? Send them a bird so that they come?!”

 

The Hound’s mouth twitched but apart from that, his face was as expressionless as a rock. “Perhaps. I don’t mind how it takes place really but I won’t let her go to you nor to any of your _buggers_ here. I need her mother, or the bloody _king in the North_ and naught else. No arguments.” 

 

“You’re overzealous, Clegane,” Jaime Lannister managed to interject. “I can’t imagine the king or my queenly sister truly care about those details,” he said before he got shut down by his guards.

 

“The Kingslayer’s right, Clegane,” Brynden Tully agreed, threat in his voice. “This argument is ridiculous.”

 

Snorting, the Hound narrowed his eyes. “I’m following orders, that’s all and I don’t _ever_ question them. So, where are Lady Stark and that _prodigal_ son of hers, tell me _please_?” he asked as he seized Sansa’s reins to make certain no one would try to steal her away.

 

With a deep sigh, Sansa’s great uncle glanced around him to find accord among his group. “As you probably have already figured, they won’t be coming here _any time soon._ ” Evidently irritated the man continued, “So what are we to do? Bring you to Riverrun with the rest of us so that you can witness the Lady Sansa’s poignant reunion with her mother?!” he jested.

 

The Hound didn’t flinch. “If that’s what it takes,” he answered flatly.

 

“I’m not going back there, Clegane! Stop this foolishness!” Jaime Lannister complained before his guards silenced him again.

 

“This is none of your business, Kingslayer,” Sansa heard one of them snarl at him.

 

For a long moment, the Blackfish glowered to himself but then he muttered with obvious lack of conviction, “If that’s what it takes then come with us, Hound.”

 

Jamie Lannister’s eyes grew wide with dread at that instant and he would undoubtedly have groused again if he had not been surrounded by such an unfriendly convoy.

 

“Well then, let’s not lose any time,” the Blackfish growled. “I do hope your men have all they need because we don’t have a single drop of water or crumb of bread to spare,” Brynden Tully hissed, glaring at Sandor.

 

The burnt corner of his mouth curling in contempt, the Hound snorted. “None of us here are beggars so don’t you lose time worrying. Anyhow, my men won’t be following us,” he objected. “They’ll be escorting _Ser Jaime_ back to Casterly Rock and I’ll be following you to Riverrun _by myself_ and that will be it. Does that sound fair enough to you, Blackfish?”

 

The silence on the field was overpowering at that moment; Sansa could hear birds chirping in the distance. No one dared to speak, not even Jaime Lannister although his guards had loosened their grip on him. 

 

“Well, this is certainly queer but I won’t object… although if you truly want to travel with us, Clegane, we won’t abide you being armed among us.” The Blackfish said the words threateningly, approaching Sandor as he spoke them. “Surrender your weapons, Hound, and you can follow. Otherwise, you can continue on your way toward the Westerlands with these folks.”

 

Sansa stared at the Hound, too stunned by the turn of events to even consider if she was being improper. There was no doubting that Sandor had created such a spectacle only to stay with her, was there? Her nerves were on the verge of breaking down. He truly had done all that only to give her the opportunity to plead with her mother on his behalf… She was moved to tears at the thought but still, would he agree to surrender his sword? That was not likely; Sandor was a proud warrior and had always been armed ever since she met him. Sansa was so nervous at that instant; she felt as if her heart was about to jump out of her throat.

 

For a long time, the Hound glowered at her great uncle with evident animosity, clearly uncomfortable with the turn of events but after an interminable wait, he sighed and reached for his sword. “If those are the terms, I’ll take them. I have no choice anyhow.” He unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to the Blackfish. “Take it before I change my mind.” The older man immediately seized the weapon and passed it to one of the men beside him. “You’ll want my bloody dagger as well, I reckon? Here, take it,” Sandor snarled as he tossed the blade.

 

“You have anything else, Clegane?” Brynden Tully asked. Without even waiting for an answer, he sent one of his crew to go through the Hound’s saddlebag and then went as far as to require that he get off his stallion and be searched from top to bottom.

 

By some miracle, Sandor didn’t complain throughout the whole process although it was plain as day that he wanted naught else than to kill the man who had been given the strenuous duty. He didn’t though and only once it was all over with did Sansa’s heart begin beating normally again. Instinctively, her lips curled into the smallest of smiles. The Hound caught it as he glanced at her; his eyes gleamed with something like resentment then but Sansa could also see longing shining in them. If only she could tell him how grateful she was, kiss him and hold him to show him what a good choice he had made… unfortunately it was impossible; all she could do was politely watch him as he jumped on Stranger’s back.

 

“We wish you the best, Lady Sansa,” Todd stated, head bowed before the rest of his group saluted her one by one.

 

Sandor only nodded at them when they gave him their farewells. The men then went to Jaime Lannister and untied him from his horse.

 

 “So you won’t be coming with us, Clegane,” Joffrey’s uncle said as he rubbed his sore wrist where the rope had been. “Be sure to stop by Casterly Rock once you’re done delivering the young Lady Stark. I’d definitely benefit from a decent jousting partner if I wish to get some of my form back before I return to King’s Landing.”

 

“Aye, I’ll stop by,” the Hound answered with nonchalance before turning his horse around. Facing Brynden Tully, he rasped, “You want to sleep here tonight, Blackfish?”

 

The man didn’t reply. Instead he wordlessly gazed around him and everyone began moving in silent understanding. A moment later, they were all on their way again.

 

****

 

 

 _Here it is,_ Sansa breathed to herself. Riverrun, the seat of House Tully was right in front of her. Sansa had heard so much of the place; in truth, setting eyes on the proud castle had been one of her lifelong dreams and the sight was definitely impressive. The location was even more spectacular than she had expected. The way the fortress took root in the lively flow of water, stone rising from the river itself was breathtaking. It had taken about a sennight for them to get here, a sennight during which Sansa had gotten to know her great uncle slightly better but during which she also had not had even a single chance to speak to Sandor. The Hound hadn’t travelled by her side; he had been kept at the other end of the column and had always been surrounded by the same group of men that had guarded Jaime Lannister. The only element that differentiated his situation from the one of their previous prisoner was that he had not been tied to his horse but he was no more than a captive really. The man wasn’t free to move about as he willed and Sansa had felt her throat tighten every time she had reflected upon it _. Everything will change very soon,_ she mused as she stared at Riverrun with both hope and apprehension.

 

As they steadily approached the castle, Sansa could discern men watching them from over the high towers and then suddenly, the great drawbridge was brought down. A moment later, a group of people appeared over the wooden structure. Between them, Sansa noticed a tall woman, auburn hair flying in the wind.

 

“Mother!” she gasped under her breath. Without thinking, she brought her horse to a gallop, not able to resist the impulse.

 

The woman ran toward her. When she was near enough, Sansa jumped from her mount and sprinted to her.

 

“Sansa!” her lady mother cried.

 

Was all of this truly taking place? Was this one of Sansa’s foolish dreams again? She was probably about to wake in her bed in Maegor’s Holdfast.

 

“Oh my little girl!” her mother cried as she slid her arms around her.

 

 _I’m not dreaming…_ Sansa realised in a confusing mix of emotions where supreme happiness ultimately won over the rest.

 

Wetness was covering her cheeks but that didn’t matter. Her mother was holding her, tenderly caressing her hair with motherly love and her sweet and comforting scent was making Sansa feel right at home, _at long last!_ Everything would be right from now on. _Everything!_

 

After a long moment, they both loosened their embrace and her mother jerked her head back to gaze at her. “You’ve grown so much, Sansa… Look at you!” she murmured, tears rolling down her cheeks.

 

 _She looks so much like me!_ Sansa realised. She had always known but seeing her again after so long truly made her notice the truth of it. _I’m finally where I belong._

 

Overwhelmed as she had been by the reunion, Sansa hadn’t even noticed that her brother had joined them.

 

“Sansa!” Robb exclaimed when he was near enough. The young girl instantly left her mother to jump into his arms.

 

Words were not needed; Sansa could read the love in his eyes. She had almost forgotten how it felt to be surrounded by family, by people who truly loved her and cared about her. They all stayed together, hugging one another in front of the castle for Sansa didn’t know nor care how long but then the Blackfish spoke and reality cruelly returned to her.

 

“I’m happy to see you all reunited, my niece. The whole process has taken longer than we had planned but everything went well nonetheless,” he said, addressing Lady Catelyn while smiling softly. As if he had suddenly remembered something unpleasant, Brynden Tully frowned and turned his horse around. “So, Hound. Are you satisfied?” he spat as he approached Sandor. Sansa instantly lost her smile.

 

The Hound and his guards were slowly nearing the Blackfish. Emotionlessly glancing at Sansa for a second, the man quickly averted his eyes. “Aye, I am,” was his lone reply.

 

“You were with him, Sansa?” the girl’s mother whispered in her ear while squeezing her arm as if she believed being with such a man was the worst ordeal imaginable.

 

Sansa nodded, feeling a pang go though her core. She desperately wanted to scream her love for him for everyone to witness at that very instant but knew how wrong that would’ve been. Tears pooled in her eyes as she realised just how difficult making her point would prove.

 

“It’s all over now, don’t you worry, my sweet daughter,” Sansa’s mother whispered softly, totally misunderstanding her distress.

 

 _No! It’s nothing like that!_ Sansa longed to tell her but everything seemed so much more complicated than she had envisioned.

 

“Well then, you may go and rejoin your masters in King’s Landing, or Casterly Rock where the Kingslayer is, for all it matters to me,” the Blackfish told Sandor, disgust in his voice. “Where are the Hound’s weapons?” he then asked one of his men.

 

“Wait!” Sansa heard herself protest. Everyone turned toward her. “He won’t have any food left, I’m sure…” Shyness taking over her, she continued less loudly. “We can’t let him go without giving him at least a few days to rest at the castle.”

 

Both Robb and her mother gazed at her with doubt.

 

“Mother, I assure you he’s been naught but good to me throughout our journey. It would be very ungrateful to let him go like this,” Sansa pleaded. “Robb?” she added looking at her brother when she lost hope of swaying her mother. “He’s harmless without his sword. I swear it.”

 

“Harmless? The Hound?!” he exclaimed with a mirthless laugh. His stare gave no sign of ceding but as he gazed at his sister’s resolute look, he finally yielded. 

 

“Very well. We’ll give him four days to rest and not one more.” Sansa sighed in relief. “But that’s all you’ll get from us, Hound,” Robb added, glaring at Sandor.  “And don’t you ever dare say the North has no mercy afterwards.”

 

Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, Sandor nonetheless bowed his head slightly. “I won’t ever say such, _Your Grace_.”

 

Sansa breathed. That was as much as she could hope to get from the Hound. _For now._ _I’ll make him bend the knee to my brother. He’ll do it once he understands that he’ll get to stay by my side if he does._ She would need to convince him first though; and her mother and brother as well. In four days anything was possible, wasn’t it?

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> I knoooow, it’s been so long seen I last updated! Almost two fucking months!!! I have a very good reason though: school of course (the bitch). Thankfully I’m done now and can return to my regular life of laziness and writing SanSan fics … Yeaaaah!!! :D
> 
> I had originally planned for this chapter to be much longer but decided to cut it in two and post this earlier. So this adds an extra chapter to the one remaining and therefore after this one, there should be about three other chapters. 
> 
> I promise the next one won’t take as long!

**Sandor**

_I’ve been a fool, a fool all along,_ Sandor mused, hands clenched so tightly over the great balcony’s railing that his knuckles had almost turned white. From where he stood, he could easily spy Sansa, smiling and giggling with a young northerner wench as she demurely sat in a sunny corner of the yard. _Already forgotten your old, ugly hound, little bird?_ He snorted bitterly to himself, his gaze leaving her to fall over a group of young men instead. The buggers had kept turning up around the two girls throughout the afternoon and Sandor had had to hold himself back from striding down the stairs and killing the lot of them with his bare hands more times than he could count. He couldn’t stand having to watch from afar as the little bird blushed and smiled so very _shyly_ and _sweetly_ while these lads filled her head with their empty talk. _It used to be you she gave her laughter and attention to, dog,_ Sandor repeated to himself once more. Should he truly be surprised that she’d prefer these buggers to him? He didn’t have much to offer, especially now that he was a deserter and he was ugly and coarse where his new rivals were good looking and refined. _Good looking and refined_ , he mocked, a contemptuous sneer forming on his face. _It won’t serve them much if I change my mind and decide to kill them after all._ Sandor could almost envision the ease with which he would disarm them, crush their pretty white teeth, cut their bowels open with their own weapons… It was all too tempting, however the _King in the North_ had had the sense to burden Sandor with a group of seasoned warriors for guards. Furtively, the man glanced in their direction. The four of them were leaning against the wall, distractedly watching him but Sandor was not fooled; they’d cut his throat the minute he made a wrong move. _All the better. I’m not likely to fight off each and every bloody retainer and soldier that crowds Riverrun anyhow and there’d be no sense in killing just a few._

For the last three days, Sandor had wandered with no purpose throughout the castle, waiting with no hope for something that would _never_ happen. _The little bird’s promises are worth no more than their chirping,_ the man concluded bitterly. Only halfwits listened to the songs of birds, believing some truth lay hidden there. Was he really no better than a village idiot to have fallen for such a mirage? _Becoming her buggering sworn shield.  Did I truly let the fucking_ _derisory dreams of a maiden contaminate me?_ As evening approached and light grew fainter, Sandor’s contempt for himself was gradually turning into wrath at the whole world but he strangely couldn’t seem to extend his loathing to Sansa, although she was certainly the cause of the torture he had to endure. On the contrary, his obsession for the girl was apparently getting stronger with each passing minute and he doubted that anything would ever stop that. Even now, he couldn’t refrain from drinking in the sight of her…

The little bird was garbed in a pretty gown, blue and red with some silver embroidery here and there. Sandor had not an ounce of interest in fancy cloth or any of the useless tat women were so passionate about but he could appreciate a dress when it fitted nicely, especially if it was the little bird’s curves that were hugged so perfectly. _I’d best stop staring at her, or else my valiant guards will soon start wondering at my interest in their lady’s daughter,_ Sandor reluctantly decided, although he scarcely could think of anything else he might do to pass the time.

 

The chamber he had been lent was just a few steps from where he stood and when he was inside, he only had to open its door to see the yard again. Lying on the pallet, the outdoor sounds were so clear that with his eyes shut, Sandor might have believed he was actually sleeping in the middle of the yard. The previous morning, he had even been awoken by the girl’s laughter… the place was no safe haven, far from it, but where was he to go? At least once inside he wouldn’t _truly_ see her and perhaps if he drank enough wine, he’d manage to forget she was so near. _You’re more naïve than the damned girl if you believe that, dog,_ Sandor scornfully thought to himself before abruptly turning around and heading for his room anyway. His guards lazily moved aside to let him pass, exchanging glares with him as they did so. Spitting on the floor beside them, Sandor narrowed his eyes at them, opened the door and clattered into the dark chamber. With more force than necessary, he slammed the door behind him but for all the noise it made, it only rebounded against the threshold and stayed ajar. Cursing, Sandor pushed it shut more carefully this time, wishing he could lock himself in but his guards had deemed it safer to remove the bolt. _How the hells is a locked door supposed to represent any threat?_  Sandor wondered with the same annoyance he felt anytime his gaolers were on his mind. The bastards were probably enjoying the control they exerted over him; having held such power over the Hound – even for just a few days - wasn’t something many could boast about and they were apparently making the most of it.

 

Sitting on the edge of the pallet, Sandor grabbed the wineskin that waited on the small table beside it and took a long, thirsty sip from it. At least the Tullys had been generous where Dornish red was concerned; their servants had stashed more bottles in his chamber than a normal man could hope to drink in a fortnight. Was his love of the bottle that renowned? Or mayhap, it was the little bird who had demanded those to be brought up… _The little bird…_ There she was again, always in the back of his mind. Would he ever be rid of her?

 

 _You stupid dog. You’ve done everything you possibly could never to forget her and now you pity yourself? No one coerced you to accept that buggering mission to deliver the girl to her family but you nevertheless volunteered right away, too eager to be the one she’d be thankful to, all the while dreading the moment she’d fly too far from your grasp, that you’d lose the hold you had on her, no matter how insignificant it had been._ The problem wasn’t so much that he had desired the girl and found a way he might be alone with her; there was certainly naught surprising about a man jumping at such a perfect occasion to trap his prey.No, what bothered him was the weakness the girl had so easily uncovered in him. After giving himself all the trouble he had, you’d think a man like Sandor - who lusted for a maiden so high above his own station - would gladly rape the girl or kidnap her once the moment was right. It was what logic _clearly_ commanded after all but for some inconceivable reason, he had preferred to let her lead him and to _respect_ her fucking wishes.

Would she be thankful for Sandor’s twice damnable restraint when her buggering _husband_ broke that precious maidenhead of hers a few years from now? He’d been on the verge of taking her so many times… Why didn’t he do it? _Why_? He should’ve been the one to tear the bloody piece of flesh, not the faceless, nameless high lord she’d end up with.

 

Perhaps following in Gregor’s footsteps would’ve been a good plan in the end. Killing and raping was the way to go. Sandor’s brother would never have stopped himself from taking what he desired and he assuredly never had to suffer and regret so fucking much. _Hear me brother? I envy you now,_ Sandor admitted, jaw clenched so tightly it almost hurt.  

 

Well, there was still wine and plenty of it. He’d be drinking until dawn came and then, he’d leave that _gods forsaken_ continent and the nightmare would finally be over. _Or perhaps, it will only truly begin…_

**Sansa**

The day had been a lovely one and while the air was definitely getting chillier, the sun had been warm enough most of the time that Sansa hadn’t even needed a cloak as long as she stayed out of the shade. She had made the most of the afternoon by lazing in the yard and she felt invigorated for it, like a flower that required the sun to bloom. It was nice being at Riverrun; the castle would never be home as Winterfell had been but it had quickly stolen its own place in her heart. She liked the soothing sound that resounded from the Tumblestone and Red Fork rivers as they collided with the high walls, the eternal mist that flew around them, reflecting the sunbeams in hundreds of tiny rainbows and the fresh smell of water that filled the air. Most of all, however, Sansa cherished the love she was surrounded with. Naught had ever felt so right… although, there was still something lacking. _Sandor,_ she missed him so much! The uncertainty of his situation and the hostile way in which he was treated were perhaps the only clouds darkening her happiness these days but it was far from a negligible one. The knowledge that the man she loved would inevitably be chased away if she didn’t act shortly was omnipresent – invading Sansa’s every thought. It was always in the back of her mind, altering the purity of her joy like a veil of nervousness through which she had to gaze at the world. Notwithstanding all that, or mayhap for that exact reason, Sansa had been unable to broach the subject with her mother and brother until now.

 

Time had flown so fast! During the first three nights, Sansa and her mother and brother had tried to make up for the lost time; they had talked for hours, laughed but most of all, cried in each other’s arms. The murder of her father, the loss of her two younger brothers, the havoc at Winterfell, the disappearance of Arya… all of these cruel events they had felt compelled to go through once again, however painful the process had been. It wasn’t the same though, to relive these excruciating episodes with her mother and Robb as both of them understood firsthand the distress Sansa had had to go through. The same way the wounded man cries in pain when the healer reopens his infected injury, Sansa had suffered while she reawakened the horrific memories that crowded her heart but as flesh needs to be freed of pus in order to heal, her soul had required that she share its ache to be liberated from its shadows. As a result, Sansa had quickly regained some measure of the peace she had once known before she fell into the Lannisters’ claws but the process had been terribly draining. Every day since her arrival, as night came, she had fallen asleep in her mother’s chamber, exhausted by the strength of her own emotions.

 

In the midst of all this, Sansa hadn’t forgotten about Sandor but she had always believed it wiser to wait until an appropriate time to bring him up, only the moment had never seemed right and now, only one night remained until the Hound had to go. _I have no choice now; I need to act tonight,_ Sansa realised for the tenth time since morning, heart pounding furiously. Only thinking about the upcoming discussion she would need to share with her family made her shiver with anticipation and anxiety but she was determined not to let Sandor down.

 

On several occasions since their arrival, she had glimpsed the man staring at her from afar, surrounded by his guards. As always, he had worn his customary scowl, however as Sansa had learned to read him to some extent throughout their journey, she had had no doubt that he had wished naught more than to reach for her in those moments, to touch her and kiss her. It had been impossible of course; all of Sandor’s movements had been closely watched from the moment he had stepped through Riverrun’s entrance. Needless to say, no contact had been allowed between them and it was driving Sansa crazy. She missed him so much! It was even more unbearable that he was never truly far from her. Even now, she could see him wandering over the balcony that circled around the yard and although the man kept his eyes averted most of the time, Sansa had felt his gaze linger on her so often throughout the afternoon… it was insufferable! At least Dacey Mormont, a daughter of Maege Mormont, was there to keep her company. The older girl and she had met on the very first day she had arrived at the castle and they had bonded immediately. Sansa admired her ways; while Dacey was as accomplished and refined a lady as Sansa, that didn’t stop her from wearing breeches and practicing sword fighting in the yard a few hours every day. _Arya would have loved her! A lady warrior; beautiful and elegant while fierce and strong_.  If only Sansa could be more like her…

 

A group of young men had spent the last hour circling around her and Dacey and although Sansa was flattered by their obvious interest, none of them were a match for the Hound in her eyes. There was a time when she would have been charmed by their handsome looks and sweet words but now, all she could do was compare them to Sandor. Small and weak: that’s how they looked next to him. How could she ever be satiated with _boys_ such as these now that she had known a man as tall, strong and… _manly_ as the Hound? Nevertheless, even as she reflected on their lack of muscles, Sansa smiled at the young men. It was only courteous after all.

 

“Your lady mother has arrived, Sansa,” Dacey said while Sansa was unconsciously trying to find Sandor with her gaze. He was gone from the balcony, she realised with a pang.

 

“Really?” she replied, lowering her eyes to find her mother instead.

 

“Sansa! Supper will be ready soon,” Lady Catelyn called joyfully when she was near enough. “Let’s not make Robb wait.”

 

Throughout the last three days, the three of them had dined together every night in Mother’s chambers – sometimes joined by Jeyne, Robb’s new wife - and Sansa had cherished every moment of it. This evening would be much different though as Sansa had an extra burden on her shoulders. Nevertheless, she smiled while she stood up to meet her mother.

 

“I’m coming, Mother!” she replied. Glancing back, she saluted her new friend. “Good evening, Dacey!”

 

The tall girl grinned and waved at her.

 

Wrapping a hand around hers, Lady Catelyn kissed Sansa’s cheek and led her toward the stairs. A moment later, they reached her chambers and joined Robb who stood from his seat when he saw them. _He’s so tall and handsome!_ Sansa reflected while embracing him. She still couldn’t believe how much he had grown since she had left her home more than a year ago but then again, she had changed in many ways too.

 

A moment later, they were all settled around the table, eating their meal in a comfortable silence but Sansa couldn’t help feeling anxiety build in her. _It’s now or never,_ she kept repeating to herself although no words seemed to find their way past her lips.

 

“Are you going to be ready for our departure for the Twins five days from now?” Robb muttered as he cut some venison from the large platter that sat in the centre of the dinner table.

 

“I could leave tomorrow if you wished, Robb,” Sansa replied, eyes lowered to her meal. The subject of her mother’s younger brother’s upcoming wedding to a Frey maiden had been on everyone’s lips ever since her arrival.

 

“I’m very sorry that we can’t stay here a little while longer as you have just arrived from such a long journey but some things simply can’t wait in times of war… you could stay here if you preferred though; I already told you-”

 

“No, Robb!” Sansa cut him, forgetting her manners for once. “I want to go with you and Mother and follow you to Winterfell afterwards. I miss our home so much!”

 

“Sansa, I told you before I’d prefer you to stay at Riverrun,” Lady Catelyn objected. “You wouldn’t be alone. Your great uncle will stay here, as well as Robb’s wife-”

 

“But you wouldn’t be with me! I’m tired of being left behind! I want to be with _my family_ from now on,” Sansa stated with more vigour than she had intended. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes raised to challenge them to object.

 

No one said a word. The discussion had been held before. Although both Robb and Lady Catelyn resented Sansa’s decision, they also evidently respected her newfound self-assurance. She was a woman grown now and had a right to decide what risks she might take, especially when it involved her loyalty to her kin.

 

After a long moment of silence, Robb gave Sansa a small, sad smile. “You do realise that the journey north won’t be an easy one? Of course, you and Mother will be kept far from the heat of the battle; however they’ll be dangers everywhere. The Ironborn will surround us from the moment we reach the Neck.”

 

“You already told me all about it, Robb,” Sansa reminded him, stubbornly folding her arms. “I want to be _with you_ when you get to Winterfell and nowhere else.”

 

“So be it then,” the young man sighed, resigned at last. “I’ll make certain you two are surrounded by an army of guards _at all times_ though. I won’t risk your safety more than necessary,” he added while severely eyeing both Sansa and their mother.

 

Apparently as amused as she was annoyed by the show of authority, the latter set her lips in a tight smile. “I’m very touched by your concern, Robb,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s very sweet of you to worry so much for your _old_ mother.”

 

The retort seemed to embarrass Robb although he didn’t utter a word and only returned his attention to his meal. Sansa made to do the same but the meagre appetite she had had when she came to table had now completely vanished. She felt as if her stomach was twisting against itself. Didn’t Robb mention he’d very soon assure her protection by surrounding her with an army of guards? Sansa knew only of one man she truly felt safe with. _Sandor…_ _I have to bring the matter up… now!_ There was no other alternative, save for losing the very last chance she had to ensure that her man would follow her on the long journey North, Sansa told herself while nervously biting her bottom lip.

 

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and raised her gaze to her mother. _Now! Say what you have to!_ she adjured herself but naught came out.

 

“Robb, my son, do you think Jeyne might be with child by now?” Lady Catelyn asked, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them while pouring some sauce over her turnip. “Although I think it for the best that she stays behind at Riverrun, it does worry me that you don’t have an heir to protect your claim-”

 

“Mother!” Robb exclaimed, evidently irritated by the intrusion. His cheeks were a boyish red and Sansa would have smiled at the sight if she had not been so preoccupied. “You know I have no knowledge of such things. Only time will tell but as you know all too well, we have none of it.” Scowling, the young man looked aside and took a long sip out of his wine goblet.

 

It was already almost pitch dark outside, Sansa realised with dread as she glanced furtively out the window. _Now, I have to act. NOW!_ she repeated to herself once more, her body as agitated as if she was about to jump from a precipice.

 

“Mother. Robb,” she heard herself say.

 

They both turned around to look at her.

 

Sansa swallowed. “I… I wanted to talk to you about something…” she managed to breathe, her sweaty hands clenching against one another in her lap. “The Hound… he has protected me all along our journey through the Westerlands. I… I came to appreciate him. He told me that he had no intention of returning to King’s Landing once his mission was over.” Sansa could see her mother’s and brother’s expression darkening but she continued nonetheless. “Perhaps he could stay with us. I know he’d be an asset to the North; he has knowledge none of us have and his skills as a warrior can’t be denied-”

 

“Sansa, this makes no sense,” Robb cut her off, brow furrowed. “The Hound is one of the Lannisters’ most renowned and faithful servants. Why should we trust him? Why would you want one of them to follow us when you’ve told us how much you suffered in King’s Landing?”

 

“You don’t understand! The Hound was never truly one of them,” Sansa snapped without thinking before biting her tongue when she noticed the surprise in her mother’s eyes. Breathing in, she resumed in a calmer tone. “When I was in the capital, he always tried to help me as much as he could. I already told you about it yesterday, remember?” On the previous evening, she had vaguely mentioned some of the things Sandor had done for her but both her brother and mother had seemed sceptical and therefore she hadn’t insisted further. Now though, it was imperative that Sansa persist. “Without the advice Sandor Clegane has given me, I don’t know if I’d have survived. He even went so far as to lie to support me on a few occasions… And… and he also made certain to be the one to bring me to you. He was the only one I could travel safely with and he knew it!”

 

At that, Sansa’s mother uttered a soft mirthless laugh. _Did I say something wrong?_ the girl wondered, heart beating even faster.

 

Smiling wryly, the woman finally explained herself after a long, nerve-racking moment. “Sansa, as much as this is surprising –especially to me - I believe your word on that. You’re a sweet and innocent girl but still, you’re smart enough that I don’t trust you would speak so of the Hound if he hadn’t acted properly with you.”

 

A deep blush crept over Sansa’s cheeks at the implication. There hadn’t been anything very _proper_ about Sandor’s actions with her lately. Only, Lady Catelyn would of course never suspect that her sweet daughter might have actually enjoyed being corrupted by the former Lannister dog…

 

“I have to admit that this is reassuring as I feared the worst when I saw you arrive with him,” the woman continued. “To send a maiden alone, through the woods, with the likes of him… that’s beyond me! The Lannisters really have no ethics!” A harsh spark shining in her eyes, she looked around her, shaking her head.

 

“They don’t,” Sansa agreed, jumping on the opportunity her mother was unknowingly offering her to emphasise Sandor’s quality. “The Hound has far more morals than his ex-masters will ever have. Joffrey sent me with his sworn shield, most likely thrilled at the idea that he wouldn’t treat me well but he misjudged him. Sandor Clegane is a good man no matter what the whole of Westeros thinks. The Lannisters are largely responsible for his infamous reputation, especially Joffrey, who needed arms strong enough to carry out his orders. However, the Hound has grown to disapprove of his king’s building cruelty and decided he’d rather flee and begin anew elsewhere.”

 

A hush fell over the chamber and for a long moment, both Sansa’s mother and brother studied her with open curiosity. Shivering with anticipation, the young girl kept her gaze lowered as she waited for a reply. Still, she couldn’t help spying on them out of the corner of her eye and trying to figure what might be going through their heads.

 

Just as Sansa was starting to believe that she would never get an answer, Robb finally spoke. “And whose idea was this? Was it the Hound who asked you to find him a place with us?” he inquired, frowning.

 

“Of course not!” Sansa instantly retorted, afraid of where her brother was planning to take this. “His intentions are to cross the NarrowSea and start a new life in Essos. I only thought that after all he has done for me, offering to let him join us was the right thing to do.”

 

His lips twisting into a tired half-smile, Robb sighed deeply but then eyed his sister with kindness. “Well, if he truly helped you as you insist he has - and even when you were still in King’s Landing, I’m willing to be more generous with him. I’ll give the Hound some gold tomorrow before he leaves. That way, he won’t lack anything until he reaches the Free Cities.”

 

As he spoke, Lady Catelyn nodded in approval. Seeming satisfied, Robb rubbed his hands together as if the matter was settled before seizing his fork and lowering his eyes to his plate again.

 

The notion that the issue that meant most to her heart might be so easily dismissed froze Sansa to the bone; she felt as if her heart had been filled with ice colder than the Wall itself. Eyes widened in horror, her breath caught in her throat as she heard her brother’s decision. Her reaction must not have been very discreet for both her brother and mother instantly turned their gazes on her but just as Sansa was starting to fear they’d guessed the truth of her feelings for Sandor, Robb relaxed and began laughing.

 

“There is something very absurd about a young, harmless maiden such as you worrying about a ruthless warrior like the Hound,” he explained, glancing at Lady Catelyn who shared a slightly amused look with him. In the same teasing tone, he added, “Don’t you lose sleep over him, Sansa. A man of his sort shouldn’t have much difficulty finding work in Essos. He’ll be just fine.”

 

Although Sansa knew Robb meant no ill with his comment, she couldn’t stop the heat from invading her face. She didn’t like being mocked, especially as the subject was so sensitive to her. Still, as she couldn’t very well admit her love for the Hound to her family, she figured the best course of action was to play on the thankfulness and silly protectiveness they seemed to believe she felt for the man.

 

“That’s not what worries me, Robb! I just don’t like the thought of him going all the way back to the East coast in search of a port with ships bound for Essos. It’s war! It’s too dangerous-”

 

“Too dangerous?! By the gods, Sansa! He’s _the Hound_!” Robb exclaimed in disbelief.

 

“But he’ll be alone!” Sansa pleaded.

 

“I’m sorry, Sansa, but there’s naught I can do about it.”

 

Unwilling to accept his response, Sansa kept her gaze on her brother and they both shared a long, stubborn look until the latter snorted in shock. “You don’t expect me to lend him an escort, I hope? _Each_ of my men are counted-”

 

“No! All I’m asking of you is that you let him stay with us! You just said _yourself_ that you lacked men so then why send him away? He’ll fight for us!”

 

Throwing his head back, Robb sighed  and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds as if he was hoping to find an answer to all of his problems written somewhere on the stone. “You don’t understand, Sansa,” he resumed more calmly when he fixed his gaze on her again. “I _can’t_ give Sandor Clegane a place with us without alienating more of my allies. You’ve heard that I already lost the Karstarks. Lord Rickard tried to murder the Kingslayer to avenge his son’s death. He thankfully didn’t succeed but as he killed other Lannister prisoners we had, I had no choice but to execute him… I’m still uncertain that I’ve made the right decision… I lost so many men because of it.” He paused to consider the whole thing a while longer. “Now, we’re hoping the Freys will be willing to join forces with us again but nothing is sure until Edmure’s wedding is settled. I’ve made terrible mistakes with them too, although I don’t regret marrying Jeyne, of course.”

 

Lady Catelyn’s expression hardened at that. Sansa could tell that she probably didn’t share her son’s opinion on the matter.  

 

“All that to say, sister, that after all these events, I cannot allow myself even the slightest of missteps. If I accept your request and let the Hound join us, how do you think my men will react? They wouldn’t understand the gratitude you feel for him and there’d be no sense in trying to make them change their minds about him. You can be certain that they’d take him for a spy and think me weak for allowing my younger sister to influence me in so crucial a matter.” Turning severe eyes on Sansa, Robb added quietly, “And to be truthful, I’m not entirely convinced that he isn’t one. He could have played you, Sansa. You can be so naïve sometimes-”

 

“Oh, Robb! How can you say something like that?” Sansa cried out, highly offended by his assumption.

 

Taking hold of her hands under the table, Sansa’s mother interfered in the discussion. “Sansa, he’s right. Whether the Hound is a spy or not, that’s what the men will believe no matter what we tell them. Robb’s every action is scrutinised these days and making such a rash decision would only allow his men to question his leadership further. It would be senseless to risk losing any more of them now.”

 

Eyes pooling with tears, Sansa tried to object once more. “But… but…”

 

“Shhh, Sansa. You _have_ to trust us,” her mother told her softly while squeezing her hands. “Tomorrow, Sandor Clegane will leave, we’ll give him gold as Robb has generously proposed and _that will be it_. You can’t save everyone. Choices have to be made. In this case, either we let the Hound stay with us and risk losing more allies or we send him away and keep all the chances we have to save the North. We have to act logically, Sansa. I’m sorry.”

 

A few tears went rolling down Sansa’s cheeks. She sniffed, keeping her eyes lowered, partly in shame at crying in front of her family, partly in resentment. They would _never_ be swayed, she could see it now. To tell the truth, she had always known, deep down in her heart that they wouldn’t yield but she had preferred to blind herself from reality and believe her silly, childish dreams. _The Hound was right,_ she realised, thinking back to that evening at the Hornvale castle where he had mocked her so cruelly for asking him to become her sworn shield. _I was so full of hope back then…_

 

The worst of it was that she couldn’t find it in her to either blame or hate her family. They were right. No one would understand if they let the Hound join them in their march north. They’d only lose more allies, make enemies… they couldn’t afford that. _Oh, gods! Sandor… I’m going to lose you in truth!_

At the realisation, Sansa tore her hands for her mother’s and stood from her place. She badly needed to be alone. “I’m not hungry anymore. In fact, I think I’ll go to bed right away; I’m so tired,” she muttered, staring at the floor.

 

Gazing at her with a compassionate but also obviously weary expression, Lady Catelyn nodded to give her leave. As Robb bade her goodnight, Sansa turned around and strode out of the room.

 

Rapid as a gust of wind, she ran through the corridor, keeping her head bowed, eager to avoid contact with anyone she passed. The thought of being seen in her state - face soaked in tears, eyes and cheeks red with pain and anger – didn’t appeal to her _at all_. It was humiliating enough already to have had her family witness her weeping like a child; they had not even bothered hiding their amusement at what they believed was a maiden’s _over the top sensibility_. They’d thought her a sweet and innocent girl, worrying to tears at the mere thought that the most renowned and heartless warrior in the Seven Kingdoms might have to face danger. There was no sense in that, of course; she could understand their mirth but they were so wrong! Oh, so wrong! Sansa knew firsthand just how strong Sandor was, undefeatable even. She’d seen him in action more than once. No, the reason she was so emotive was because she loved him. If only they could understand! If only they knew! _This is stupid. I ought to be thankful they haven’t figured out there was something between us. Otherwise, Sandor would probably have ended up in Riverrun’s dungeon, or who knows, even worse…_ Still, it was frustrating being thought of as a child while she had grown so much lately. Perhaps even now, Mother and Robb were laughing at the memory of her pathetic _tantrum_ and mocking the puerility of her reaction.

 

 _No, stop that! They’re not mean; you’re being ungrateful,_ she reasoned as she reached her chamber’s doorstep and took her key out of her pouch. The room was lit up by a lively brazier that danced in the fireplace when she opened the door and Sansa sighed in relief at the sight. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Well, that was a lie of course for she would have given much to be with Sandor but life was far more complicated than simply fulfilling ones desires. Rare were those who did as they liked or if they did, they usually risked paying dearly. Robb was a good example of that logic; by marrying Jeyne, he had lost the Frey alliance. Sansa’s case wasn’t much different from his in the end; either she behaved like a lady as she had been taught and followed her family back to Winterfell or she threw away everything she knew and fled with the Hound as he had begged her to when they were at the Braxs’ Castle. Would his offer still stand if she told him she had changed her mind?

_No, it wouldn’t be possible anymore. Sandor is surrounded by guards at all times and has been disarmed. Not to mention that thousands of soldiers are camped around the castle… We would never be able to flee._ It was a foolish notion anyhow. Sansa loved the Hound with an intensity she had never even suspected she had in her and the knowledge of his imminent departure from her life made her sick with grief but that could never change the fact that her place was in the North with her family. She had a duty to her people and the memory of her late father to honour; escaping across the NarrowSea with the Hound would only accomplish the antithesis of that. It would be selfish of her to follow her heart no matter how cruel it seemed at the moment, Sansa concluded while jumping on her featherbed and burying her face in the pillows, weeping.

_Will Sandor forget me once he’s established in the Free Cities?  Will I forget him once I’m married to some high lord?_ The mere idea that they might forget one another, even years from now, made her tremble with sobs. How could something as powerful as the love they had shared vanish into thin air and become naught more than smoke, a vague memory put away forever in the darkness of one’s mind? The only thing more tragic than forbidden love was forgotten love… Sansa didn’t want to forget; she yearned to be marked forever by that episode of her life and desired naught more than to remember Sandor until the day of her death as her first and only genuine love… and lover. _Could I truly do it?_ she wondered in shock, raising her face from the wet pillows as the thought hit her. Her heartbeats becoming frantic again, she sat up on her featherbed.

 

As one of Westeros’ most highborn maidens, her destiny had always been laid out in advance for her. She would never be one to make decisions for herself and she would need to accept it as was her duty. It was an honour being a Stark after all, nevertheless with the prestige came responsibilities. She wouldn’t let her forebears down and disgrace her line by fleeing in the dark of night with someone of the Hound’s reputation. However, there was still something she might decide for herself. Something no one apart from her and Sandor would ever need to learn about. And like that, her decision was made.

 

Tonight, Sansa would offer the Hound her maidenhead.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah! A new chapter! It’s quite longer than I originally intended and I hope that you’ll all appreciate it, in all its length. :)

**Sansa**

 

The idea was _beyond_ outrageous and Sansa was utterly shocked by her own boldness but her mind had been made up from the moment the notion had slipped through it. Sandor would be the man to take her maiden gift and her resolution was as immovable as a boulder standing in the middle of a road. Nothing would make her waver from her decision. 

 

At first, her heart had skipped a beat anytime she had pondered the risk that her actions might be uncovered years from now on her wedding night but then she had reminded herself of all the travelling she had done throughout the past years. No one would raise an eyebrow if she didn’t lose blood during her bedding after all these weeks of horseback riding, she had reasoned. For now however, Sansa had yet other dangers and difficulties to keep her shivering like a leaf. For one, how she would get to the Hound’s chamber unnoticed was still a mystery to her even as she walked through the dark alleys of the castle. At least Riverrun’s population was well asleep by now. She didn’t have to worry about stumbling into a handmaiden or man-at-arms at this time of the night, Sansa kept repeating to herself. It was no use however; her fear of being uncovered was too strong to be soothed. The mere prospect of needing to explain her midnight walk to her mother made Sansa’s stomach twist into a painful mass of knots but she nevertheless kept going.

 

Sansa’s hair, face and nightgown were almost completely covered with a long and dark woollen cloak and her feet were in the tiniest slippers she could find. On her tiptoes, she advanced along the walls, treading as carefully as she could, while praying to the Mother that the sound of her soft footsteps didn’t echo across the stone corridor. Sansa couldn’t tell herself; the pounding of her heart resounded so loudly that it seemed as if it competed against her uneven breathing. Both were ringing in her ears with such force that she might as well have been completely deaf and it would not have made any significant difference. But it didn’t matter; she had to keep going.

 

She knew the place well enough by now not to get lost in the mazes of the castle and had seen Sandor enter his chamber so often while she spent time in the yard that she could have found his den blindfolded if needed. Well, that was not far from how she felt right now, progressing into the darkness with no senses left to guide her apart from her instinct. That was enough however.

 

She was almost there, Sansa could see it now. Right there in front of her, at the end of the long corridor, the moonlight was glowing. She had reached the yard and its great balcony where the Hound’s room was, she realised with a mix of excitement and dread _. How will I ever manage to get to Sandor’s door without his guards stopping me?_ she wondered with building nervousness. Her anxiety hadn’t allowed her to create a proper plan as she had waited in her chamber earlier that evening but she had nevertheless decided to jump into action, convinced that she would come up with something while on her way. She had once again been wrong, evidently. It was getting tiresome to always misjudge everything so terribly. The only hope Sansa had was that the guards would be distracted. Night shifts could be extremely dull and it would only be natural if one of them had fallen asleep… _yet, one less guard still means three men awake._ The improbability that she could succeed was getting increasingly more obvious to Sansa but she nonetheless kept on walking toward the moonlight – more stubborn than ever - until she faced the yard. As if the cold stone of the corridor’s wall could somehow protect her, the girl pressed her body against it, willing herself to merge with it. She was only a single step away from being visible to the guards that most likely stood only a dozen yards from around the corner. It was nerve-racking! Shutting her eyes, Sansa struggled for an instant to steady her breathing but then she gathered her courage, opened her eyes and slowly moved her head forward until her right eye was just _barely_ out, allowing her to spy over the balcony.

 

 _Thank the Seven!_ Sansa barely managed not to breathe aloud as she discerned the shapes of the guards. Instead of four as she had presumed, there were only _two_ men in front of the door, both of them sitting on the floor, playing dice. The sight put a grin on her face and triggered a wave of hope to rush through her but Sansa’s joy quickly soured. Two men might be better than four but she was still clueless as to how _by the Maiden_ she could possibly get past them unnoticed. She sighed in despair. _Perhaps if I wait long enough, something will attract their attention and they’ll leave their post - even for the shortest of instants – offering me the chance to sneak in,_ she reflected, not truly believing in her own train of thought. Still, it was that or returning to her room as much a maiden as she had left, she mused, blushing as she remembered the intent of her outing.

 

For long and interminable minutes, Sansa waited there, silent and trembling, her nervousness getting more overwhelming with each passing second. Her feet were aching from having to stand in place for so long, her mouth and throat were dry as paper and her hands were so sweaty that they were slippery against the stone wall. In one word, she felt terrible. The guards were seemingly not as miserable as she was; Sansa could hear them laughing and cursing both and anytime she let her eye slip out from the corner of the wall, she couldn’t note even a single sign that might indicate they intended to move from their place on the floor. _It’s hopeless,_ Sansa finally decided after what appeared to her as at least an hour of standing still in the darkness. Carefully, she let her back slide against the wall until she was sitting on the ground. She was frozen to the bone – only wearing a thin nightgown and a cloak in the cold autumn night - and so very tired but still, it was the failure she was faced with that caused the tears to pool in her eyes. _I should have given myself to him while it was possible. Mayhap at the Hornvale castle, or even when we were at that river where he saved me…_ At the memory, the tears in Sansa’s eyes went rolling down her cheeks. Blaming herself for her past actions wouldn’t change the present though. She had been so scared back then and still clinging to the belief that she had the power to sway Robb and Mother; it was only natural that she’d preferred not to go too far. Her current situation was more surprising to be honest. A young girl was supposed to treasure her maidenhead, not sneak out of her room at night, desperately willing to be rid of it. Acting so was almost treason when you thought about it; what if-

 

“They’re back. Finally!” a voice suddenly exclaimed, halting Sansa’s reflection as abruptly.

 

Eyes wide and heart jumping in her throat, the young girl turned around to spy around the corner of the wall again. Noises were coming from the other end of the balcony. From where she was Sansa could distinguish four persons, both men and women judging by the sound of their voices and laughter. _What is that all about?_ she wondered for a heartbeat, until she saw the two guards putting their dice game aside and rising to join the other group. In the blink of an eye, Sansa got to her feet again. There was no time to think as she would never get such a chance again and therefore, she took a deep breath, whispered a short prayer and flew from her hiding place, running to the Hound’s chamber door. Less than two seconds later, she was there, hiding in the hollow of the doorway, hoping against all odds that no one had seen her but as she heard no yell or footsteps, Sansa was shortly thanking the gods, old and new, for the luck they had granted her. Hastily, she reached for the door handle only to realise that the place might very well be locked. Would she need to knock then? she wondered, her anxiety reaching a whole new height. Thankfully, just as her heart was about to explode in her ribcage, the door opened with not an ounce of resistance. With haste and most of all, an immeasurable amount of relief, she stepped into the chamber and shut the door behind her. And reality became dark as a grave.

 

Long moments passed during which Sansa didn’t make a single move, too disoriented by the gloom to react. The room was warm - especially after the coldness of the yard’s corridor - and also very silent with only the sound of Sandor’s soft snoring to be heard. Nervously, Sansa took a step further into the space, blinking as her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. The remnants of a small fire were dying in the fireplace but there was still enough light emanating from it for Sansa to begin discerning the shapes of the things that surrounded her.

 

The room wasn’t very large; in fact it was rather small. There was a simple wooden table in one corner, a single chair to go with it and a pallet in the other corner… and on the pallet was Sandor. He was on his back, sleeping peacefully, chest bared. At the sight, Sansa gasped softly and took a step back from him. The impression she had to trespass on his privacy made her instantly ill-at-ease but then she remembered, blushing, why she had come to him in the first place. Swallowing, she resumed her slow walk toward him.

 

She could smell the wine now; he had been drinking and there was no question about it. Sweeping her eyes over the room, Sansa almost immediately spotted the empty bottles and skins settled over the small table. So Beckie - her handmaiden - had indeed delivered the wine Sansa had prepared for him, she realised with a smile. The thought that Sandor had received her present warmed her heart and thus for a short instant, Sansa almost completely forgot how nervous she was but then an abrupt movement caught her off guard.

 

“WHO’S THERE?!” the Hound barked so threateningly that Sansa jerked backward in fright, barely managing not to scream. In the blink of an eye, the man had crouched over his bed, ready to jump at the throat of whoever was disturbing his sleep. Convinced that the door would open at any moment, filling the room with guards, Sansa looked behind her for a second but was quickly reassured when she didn’t hear a single sound coming from outside. The guards were probably still away.

 

“It’s me, Sansa,” she managed to whisper, her gaze back on him. Her whole body was shivering in an unpleasant mix of anticipation and fear. What if the Hound wasn’t pleased to see her after all?

 

“Sansa?” he repeated, looking bemused as he stared straight ahead, eyes lost in the darkness. His voice was rougher than ever; sharp as a blade but with something gravelly, almost _dirty_ to its edge. As if he didn’t believe his ears, Sandor jumped from his pallet and blindly reached for her.

 

Strong, calloused fingers quickly covered Sansa’s cheek as another hand grabbed her by the waist and dragged her closer. Sansa breathed in the man’s scent, letting her own hands fall over his bare chest. It was so strange to feel his skin directly under her fingers and the hair was rougher than she’d imagined. Still, touching him like this was a thousand times better than it had ever been through a tunic. Nestling her head against his chest, Sansa shut her eyes in contentment, peaceful for the first time that night.

 

“What are you doing here?” the Hound asked suddenly, his voice so harsh that she felt as if its sharpness had just cut open her heart. _He doesn’t want me to be here,_ she surmised, shocked and dejected.

 

Eyes wide in the gloom, Sansa made to take a step back but Sandor only tightened his grip on her. His fingers were digging almost painfully into her waist and shoulder and she could hear and feel his ragged breath against her face.  Was he gazing at her? She didn’t dare to look up. One of her worst fears had come true; the Hound wasn’t pleased to see her…

 

“What are you doing here?” the man asked once again, his tone even rougher than before although he kept his voice low enough not to be heard from outside.

 

For an instant, Sansa was catapulted back to a time when the Hound still terrified her. She trembled in fright, totally intimidated by everything he was but then she shook herself. Hadn’t she learned through their journey to look beyond the façade… to tame him? She couldn’t cower from him like a child now. “Sandor…” she heard herself say with far more confidence than she felt after a long moment of silence. “I... I wanted to see you,” she murmured, gazing upward, trying to make out his features. “To see you one last time before you go.”

 

Snorting, the man gently pushed her from him and moved toward the fireplace. “It’s a rare thing that a woman wants to see my _bloody_ face,” he rasped while stirring the embers back to life with a poker. Once a fire was burning again, the room grew noticeably lighter - although it was still quite dim – however, this was enough for Sansa to behold the whole space with far more detail than she had previously. Sitting on the edge of his pallet, Sandor was blankly staring at her, looking fairly drunk. “Go on, little bird. Take your last buggering look,” he growled, eyes narrowed at her while he craned his neck in a mocking offer.

 

It was very like him to take her words so literally but instead of smiling as she would normally have, Sansa felt her eyes fill with tears. She strode toward him. “Sandor,” she said, trying to keep her voice poised. “I… I tried tonight to convince my brother and mother to let you stay with me – I swear I did! - but they-”

 

“Bugger that, little bird. Don’t tell me you truly believed they would let me stay _by your side_ and be your fucking dog?” Sandor barked a rough and bitter laugh at that. “That was a _stupid_ notion. I told you, didn’t I?” Without warning, the man dug his fingers into Sansa’s hair until it circled over her head in a not so pleasant manner. “I thought you’d grown a brain in that pretty head of yours,” he then grunted almost meanly.

 

“Please! Don’t mock me, Sandor!” Sansa cried out while shaking his hand from her. “You were the one who found a way to follow me to Riverrun. The Blackfish didn’t want you to but you nonetheless forced it on him.” Hesitating for a few seconds, Sansa took a deep breath and continued. “Wasn’t it because you wanted me to try swaying my family? Why come otherwise?”

 

His jaw clenched, Sandor’s mouth twitched a few times. Narrowed and stormy, his eyes were boring into Sansa’s, glaring at her so intently that it sent a shudder down her spine but then he turned his head sideways and gazed away from her. “Well, mayhap I’m as _stupid_ as you after all, little bird,” he hissed between gritted teeth.

 

Against her own will, Sansa’s lips curled into a small smile. This was his way of admitting he had hoped too. Sandor still had feelings for her, only he was too bitter to show it or admit it. The knowledge gave Sansa courage. She had to be the one to open her heart, for the Hound would never do it. “I can’t believe you’ll be going tomorrow,” she began, throat tightening at the thought. “Chances are we’ll never see each other again afterward… I wish we could have stayed together.”

 

Glaring at her from his place on the bed, Sandor rolled his eyes and threw his head back, uttering a short, dry laugh. “Your words don’t mean a thing, girl. They’re fucking _empty_!” Seizing her by the upper arms, he pulled her closer, causing Sansa to nearly lose her balance in the process. “If you wanted to be with me so damned much, you should’ve followed me when the _time was right_. Now, don’t you pretend to be fucking heartbroken and all. I don’t buy your bloody shit, Sansa,” he snarled as lowly and menacingly as a dog about to attack, shaking her before he pushed her away with more force than he had ever used on her.

 

Falling to the floor, Sansa yelped in shock. She wasn’t truly hurt but the Hound, notwithstanding his harsh talk, had never been anything but gentle and protective toward her before. The contrast was so strong, brutal even, that Sansa couldn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. Finding solace in the cool contrast of the floor against her burning face, she curled into herself and tried to keep her sobs silent.

 

“You all right, girl?” Sandor muttered from his seat on the pallet.

 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Sansa stayed silent. She needed to calm herself, to breathe a few times and stop sobbing before she talked.

 

The pallet creaked and Sansa heard footsteps coming toward her. Opening her eyes slightly, she spied Sandor but only had time to see him staggering as he approached before she quickly closed them again. Crouching above her, the Hound settled his hands on her with far more delicacy this time.

 

“I didn’t kill you, did I?” he asked wearily.

 

Sansa shook her head but kept her eyes shut.

 

Sighing, with something like relief, Sandor began feeling her arms and thighs. “Anything broken?”

 

“No, I’m fine… Just shaken,” Sansa replied in a whisper before turning on her back and opening her eyes to gaze at him. The Hound was watching her with a brooding expression, apparently lost in his thoughts.

 

Leaning closer, he began brushing Sansa’s cheek with his knuckles. “A brute like me shouldn’t have a fragile little bird like you in his care. See how I treat you? I wouldn’t know how to handle you without breaking your wings,” the man rasped, mouth set in a tight half-smile. “You’ve made the right choice, Sansa. You’d lose too much coming with me and I’d only end up hurting you for real.”

 

Vigorously shaking her head, Sansa circled her arms around Sandor’s neck. He was mistaken! He was far better than he believed he was! If she hadn’t been so highborn… _Oh! I’d have married him in a heartbeat and never feared for my safety!_ For the first time in her life, Sansa regretted being a Stark. Pushing the thought aside and willing the tears that were beginning to pool in her eyes for the hundredth time that night to stay in place, she pressed her lips against his. Despite what she had feared, Sandor didn’t shove her away; on the contrary, he leaned his body over hers, pinning her against the floor and opened his lips to meet her tongue with his. Sansa moaned into his mouth, overwhelmed by his warmth and the feel of his hard muscles against her.

 

“Sandor,” she breathed, leaving his mouth. “I came tonight because… because I still owe you something.”

 

“You owe me nothing, little bird,” the man replied, slightly puzzled.

 

“No, I assure you I do,” Sansa replied, blushing. “I… I promised you a song, long ago but never gave it to you.”

 

Snorting softly, the Hound rolled on his side. “You don’t have to sing for me, Sansa. You know by now that was only meant as a bawdy… jape,” the man began, losing his assurance as he finished his sentence and realised by the smile she was giving him that she knew exactly - this time at least - what she was referring to. For a moment, he seemed lost and therefore Sansa turned on her side to face him and laid her hands over his torso.

 

“Sandor,” she said, gathering all her courage, barely believing she had it in her to be so bold – wanton even. “Tonight… I… I want to be yours… take me.”

 

The Hound’s whole body shook as he heard her demand. His eyes grew wide and he gazed at her as if she had completely lost her mind. “You don’t realise what you’re doing here, girl. _Careful_! You don’t say things like this unless you _fucking_ mean them,” he warned her, although his tone made it sound more like a threat.

 

“But I do,” Sansa stated in a murmur so soft she wasn’t even certain he had heard her.

 

He had though.

 

Groaning lowly, Sandor gathered her in his arms and lifted her from the ground faster than it took for Sansa to even realise what was happening. A heartbeat later, she was bouncing over the pallet, the dark shape of the Hound looming beside her. Gaping in surprise at her sudden change of environment, Sansa propped herself on her elbow and glanced up at the man. His gaze was so intent; from the gleam that shone in his eyes, she might have believed he had gone completely mad and was about to kill her had she not known better. A part of her was frightened to be desired with such ferocity while another was flattered and thrilled at being the object of a passion as strong and undeniable as his. _He really wants me,_ Sansa reflected, butterflies filling her stomach.

 

Her cloak was wide open around her, revealing the thin white nightgown she was wearing underneath. From where he stood beside the pallet, the Hound was biting at his bottom lip, head slightly tilted while fixing her with narrowed eyes. His body was tight as a bow and completely still apart from his gaze that kept roving all over Sansa’s body. _It’s the calm before the storm,_ she realised, heart hammering.

 

And indeed it was for just as she was reflecting upon it, Sandor exhaled and jumped on the pallet beside her, sliding an arm under her shoulder blades while breathing in the scent of her neck and hair. For the briefest instant, the closeness of his presence was almost enough to allow Sansa to forget the knot of nervousness that had taken root in her long hours ago. Shutting her eyes, she snuggled herself against him, willing some of his strength to infuse itself into her.

 

Calloused fingers were pushing down her collar and Sandor began nibbling and biting at her shoulder and neck while his hands stroked her firmly _everywhere_ withthe same urgency, as if he feared she might disappear at any moment. Her hair, her waist, her thighs and buttocks… every part of her body seemed to be a magnet for his touch. Each of his movements was so rapid that Sansa was growing dizzy but the sensation wasn’t an unpleasant one, far from it. When his lips finally met hers, she felt like her heart would burst out of her chest from the deep bliss it induced in her; Sandor’s mouth was so perfect against hers! No matter the burns that covered one half and the dirty words it so often uttered, for now it was soft and comforting. How would she ever live without those hot kisses? _Don’t think about it. Not now,_ Sansa repeated to herself while raising her hands to his broad shoulders. His skin was far rougher and thicker than her own and the muscles underneath were so solid and taut… She couldn’t stop herself from exploring every detail of their shape and tracing the lines of his chest and arms with her fingers, totally absorbed by the feeling.

 

For a split-second, Sansa tensed when she grew aware of the Hound’s hard manhood rubbing against her thigh. A deep blush crept all over her body but she relaxed nonetheless and didn’t try to stop him, even when he pushed it further against her. _It seems so big!_ she thought to herself, at once curious and fearful. The fabric of her nightgown was so thin and his woollen breeches weren’t truly thick either; she could almost feel everything… Would he mind if she touched it? She didn’t dare ask. How by the Maiden was one supposed to demand such a thing?

 

“I’ve been dying for a taste of those sweet teats of yours for longer than you can imagine, Sansa,” Sandor murmured as he lowered his head over her cleavage. 

 

Sansa’s eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat when his fingers began fumbling with the laces of her dress, pushing the cloth out of the way a second later, down to her navel. Her arms stayed stuck in the gown’s sleeves and she had to fight to free herself from the fabric but once it was done and she saw how the Hound was eating her up with his gaze, she believed her core would melt. His warm mouth was over her breasts almost instantly, licking and biting hungrily at the nipples and Sansa whimpered at the sensation. She had never suspected that such pleasure could be induced by that part of her body. Shutting her eyes, she dug her fingers into his hair, letting the intense heat that leaked from each inch of skin the Hound’s mouth lingered upon spread through her whole body.

 

“Tasty,” the man rasped, leaving Sansa’s wet nipples. The girl groaned in dissatisfaction, raising her hands over her breasts to warm them. The nipples were stiff under her touch.

 

Backing slightly away from her, Sandor rolled onto his side and took hold of the hem of Sansa’s skirt, bringing it up while brushing his palm all along her calf and thigh, until the cloth was gathered around her waist. A second later, he had left Sansa’s side and got to the end of the pallet, between her legs. Making a bundle out of the dress, the Hound nodded impatiently at Sansa.

 

“Take that off,” he said.

 

Obediently, Sansa sat up only to realise that her cloak was still draped over her shoulders. She undid its clasp before sliding her nightgown over her head and throwing both pieces of clothing onto the floor. At the contact with the fresh air, goose bumps sprouted all over Sansa’s naked skin, an unneeded reminder of the almost complete state of nudity she was in. Never in her life had she been so exposed to a man’s eyes and while a rush of shame flooded through her at the thought, the idea also made her centre ache as it never had before.

 

The Hound took a second to admire her, chest heaving and mouth slightly open. He was crouched over the pallet, eyeing her with the same lust and hunger of a savage beast staring at its prey as it got ready to attack. Sansa bit her lip in anticipation. She was his for the night, she reminded herself and was prepared to let him do whatever he pleased with her.

 

“You won’t be needing those,” Sandor muttered as he began relieving her of the long stockings she wore. Once they had joined the cloak and nightgown on the floor, the man grunted and gazed at Sansa’s smallclothes.  Teeth bared in a wicked grin, he slid his forefinger under a layer of lace, toying with it. “Nor these,” he added, unlacing the ribbons that held the garment in place.

 

Sansa squeaked as he pulled the last of her clothing down and fell back onto the mattress. She closed her legs more by reflex than anything else, feeling moisture seeping at their juncture.

 

“You said you’d open your pretty white legs for me tonight, little bird,” the Hound reproached in jest, while grabbing her thighs and gently spreading them.

 

Sansa didn’t resist; he was doing exactly what she had demanded of him, after all. Would he enter her _now_?

 

“Mmm,” Sandor groaned, sounding delighted. “Everything about you is perfect, girl. Even your cunt. Pretty red hair, just like your head…” He paused to utter a soft snort and smirked. “And pink, like your lips… I’ll kiss it too, if you’d like.”

 

Without even waiting for a reply, he lowered his head and pressed his lips over Sansa’s most secret part. The sensation was so strange; very similar to the one she had experienced while touching herself in the woods while at the same time _utterly_ different. The knowledge that a man’s head was cradled in such an intimate place, nuzzling her with neither restraint nor shame, both stupefied and entranced her. She could hear him breathing heavily as he licked and sucked at her folds, his big hands running all over her thighs. A moan escaped her lips when his tongue began teasing her entrance but he then bit at her inner thigh and rose suddenly from the bed. _Why is he stopping?_ Sansa wondered, flushed and flustered.

 

“I can stand it no more, little bird. I need to fuck that sweet cunt of yours, _now_ ,” the man rasped, mouth gleaming with moisture. Frantically, he reached for the laces of his breeches, untying them with haste as if they had caught fire.

 

Sansa rose on her elbows and watched him, spellbound. He was quickly freed from his breeches and standing in front of her, as naked as on his name day. Sansa gulped. Sandor’s manhood was even bigger than she had imagined. Was it supposed to fit _entirely_ into her lady’s part? Surely not.

 

Thick and slick, the Hound’s stiff member was a shade or two darker than the rest of his body and standing so straight that it seemed to defy any logic. All around its base, dark, curly hair grew, covering the two balls of flesh that hung below while going all the way to his navel in a thin line. A curious pearl of moisture was shining at the tip of its head in the most intriguing fashion. Never before had Sansa seen a grown man’s member. She was astounded by the sight and only resuming breathing normally when Sandor’s fist went circling around its length and began moving up and down in slow, constant movements. Why was he doing that? _Oh… could he really be…?_

 

Sansa’s stupefied expression seemed to both amuse and arouse him. “I’ve done this pretty damned often thinking of you, Sansa. Did you know that?” the man admitted, taking his place between her thighs and parting them. Using his hand at first, he stroked her folds, uttering a satisfied grunt.

 

“You’re all wet and ready. I never dreamed your cunt to be so eager to welcome my cock,” he breathed, rubbing the length of his manhood against her.

 

Gasping, Sansa threw her head back at the pleasure the contact brought her. “Oh, Sandor,” she cried, not thinking. “I want…” she whispered, trailing off when she realised she didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.

 

“What? Tell me, little bird?” the Hound inquired with obvious interest. When she didn’t reply, he smirked and asked, “My cock? Is _that_ what you want?”

 

Sansa could feel her skin growing redder with every beat of her heart but lowered her gaze to him nonetheless, fixing it on him for a few seconds before she nodded her agreement.

 

At her reply, the Hound’s eyes seemed to darken even more and his mouth twitched. He lowered his body over Sansa’s and met her lips with his in a soft kiss while aiming the end of his manhood at her entrance. Slowly, he began sliding the head into her. It felt so strange but didn’t hurt at first until he pushed into her again, further this time. Her body tensing, Sansa let out a cry but immediately tried to relax and circled her arms around the Hound’s broad neck.

 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked as softly as his hoarse voice allowed.

 

“No,” Sansa lied, shaking her head while looking up at him. He seemed concerned but smirked and kissed her when he heard her reply.

 

In one thrust, Sandor sheathed the rest of his manhood into her, his brow falling onto the pillow when he was done. “Seven hells, little bird, but you’re tight.”

 

Sansa didn’t have a hard time believing him for she felt stretched to an extent she hadn’t expected. Still, the pain wasn’t so bad that she couldn’t bear it and that was more than she had hoped for. _That’s it!_ _I’m not a maiden anymore,_ was the thought that hit her at that moment. Her veil was without a doubt history now that the Hound’s hard member filled her so completely. The idea was both frightening and exciting; while Sansa knew very well that her actions tonight could never be reversed, the notion that she had decided for herself to whom she’d gift her maidenhead was also extremely satisfying. The knowledge that it was Sandor whom she had allowed to invade her body for the first time would be with her for the rest of her life and no one could ever take it from her.

 

With a deep groan, the Hound began to move his hips back and forth between Sansa’s thighs, slowly at first but then faster and faster. Although her lady’s parts were still sensitive, something in the way his shaft rubbed against their walls induced a pleasant throbbing which was increasingly more intense and intoxicating as he kept going. Sweat was pearling all over the Hound’s torso and back but Sansa couldn’t have cared less and kept her arms tightly locked around his shoulders. Pressing her deeply into the scratchy straw mattress, Sandor’s muscular body was heavy over hers, weighing on her but that was also something she enjoyed.

 

She had never seen him bear such an expression as the one he had now. His eyes were deprived of the usual cool edge and assurance they always had; they were passionate, lost and contented all at once instead. Sansa couldn’t believe she could be the cause of such exhilaration in the man. Sandor was so out of breath; he barely seemed to be able to contain himself, as if he was on the verge of something. _I love him like that_ , Sansa decided, wishing the moment might last eternally. Growing bold, she arched her back and ground her hips against his, mirroring his own constant movements while letting out a whimper as she felt his manhood - although she would have sworn it was impossible! - slide even deeper inside her.

 

Panting, the Hound’s eyes grew wide. “You squirming little bird! If you don’t stop that, I won’t last very long.”

 

Puzzled by his meaning, Sansa stopped nonetheless but it apparently didn’t matter as Sandor was already rolling onto his back and abandoning her.

 

“Too late,” he breathed, stroking his manhood in the same fashion he had moments ago. A white, transparent liquid spilled from the tip of its head, landing over Sandor’s upper belly in sticky looking drops while the man groaned and shook, head thrown back.

 

Sansa stared at the whole process in fascination. That probably meant the end of it, she gathered, slightly disappointed although mostly content with the outcome.

 

“I had too much bloody wine,” the Hound rasped under his breath. “I was drunk asleep when you arrived. It’s a buggering wonder I got hard at all… Although with you, I wager I’d manage even after drowning myself in all the bloody wine in the Red Keep’s storeroom,” he continued, eyes shut as if he was about to fall asleep.

 

Rolling onto her side, Sansa nestled against him, purring when she felt his thick arm snake around her. A second later, she squeezed her eyes shut as the realisation that these were her last moments with Sandor hit her again, willing the gesture to chase the knowledge from her mind. Now was not the time to weep and regret. _Later. I’ll think on that later._ Forcing a smile on her face, she opened her eyes and laid a hand over the Hound’s chest, caressing its hair while glancing curiously down. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his manhood, still as hard as it had been before he entered her. Was it meant to stay like this even after? A man’s member still held so much mystery in her eyes. She yearned to understand how it worked, what every detail she had witnessed tonight meant… and to touch it. Heat invaded her face at the idea but Sansa would never get another chance, apart from years from now with her husband. Thinking of that faceless man almost brought bile to the back of her throat; she’d rather never give herself to any man at all than be touched by someone else. Her resentment giving her courage, Sansa slowly moved her hand toward Sandor’s manhood. The man’s breath was coming more evenly now, the soft, soothing sound of someone dozing off and for a very short instant, Sansa was persuaded that he would not even notice as she lightly laid the tips of her fingers over his manhood but she had been wrong again.

 

Obviously still awake, the Hound turned prying eyes on her even before she had a chance to really get a touch. “What are you doing, Sansa?” he grunted, staggered.

 

Abashed that she’d been caught, the girl nervously gazed at him but was quickly reassured when she didn’t read any annoyance in his expression. On the contrary, his eyes were alive with lust as if their lovemaking had never taken place.

 

Lowering her eyes in embarrassment, Sansa nevertheless decided to explain herself. “I… I wanted to feel your… your…”

 

“My cock,” Sandor answered for her, smirking. “Go on. Touch it all you like; I’m not about to stop you.”

 

Blushing at the smugness of his approval, Sansa once again approached his manhood with her hand and caressed its length with her fingers. _The skin feels so soft and silky_ , she mused, amazed that a warrior such as the Hound would have even a single part of his anatomy that was not rough or calloused. Her head was propped over his chest, face turned down so that she could see what she did but Sansa needed a better view. She sat up, shy and bold all at once while the powerful arm that held her let her go, stroking her back and hair instead. The white fluid she had seen coming out of Sandor’s shaft was still there over his upper belly and Sansa laid the tip of a finger over it, moving it around. It was stickier than she’d imagined, she noted, wrinkling her nose.

 

“The seed’s still there, isn’t it? I’d almost forgotten,” the Hound muttered while stretching his long body to seize some random piece of cloth from the small table beside the pallet. Without much care, he rubbed it over the seed and threw it away.

 

Sansa watched, fearful that the soiled fabric had fallen over her nightgown and stained it with the seed, giving proof of her misbehaviour to whomever was curious enough to look but thankfully the Hound had aimed further away. Sansa sighed in relief and returned to her exploration.

 

Sandor’s erect member was lying over his lower belly, going all the way to his navel and Sansa was confounded at the thought that it had fitted _completely_. It was _so_ long! And not only that, it was also _exceedingly_ large. Could she cover all its width with her fist as Sandor had done? Surely not but the urge to try was getting to her. Delicately, Sansa pressed her palm against it and jumped in surprise when the thing squirmed under her touch.

 

“It wants you to stroke it, that’s all,” the Hound muttered, a wolfish grin curving his lips.

 

Heeding his suggestion, Sansa gripped his shaft and lifted it using one hand first but then adding another if only to evaluate its dimensions more easily.  Astounded by the way the skin slid over the hardness it covered, she shyly attempted to mimic the slow up and down movements the Hound had done previously. It wasn’t as simple as it looked; the skin kept slipping out of her hands and Sandor was starting to tense as if something was annoying him.

 

“Harder, Sansa. Close your little fists as firmly as you can. And move faster too,” he rasped. A jolt passed though his body when she did as he asked, shortly followed by a string of soft curses.

 

The strength of his reaction made Sansa smile. It did go far better that way, she had to admit. The skin was moving smoothly under her palms and judging by the response she was getting, the Hound enjoyed the caresses she offered very much. He was not the only one though; Sansa relished the feeling of power the gesture gave her. Simply by stroking his shaft, it was as if she had gained all control over him, no matter how impressive and intimidating he usually was.

 

“Yes, that’s it, little bird,” Sandor murmured approvingly. “Now straddle me. Put your lovely cunt around my cock.”

 

Sansa’s eyes grew wide. She wasn’t exactly certain of how she was supposed to proceed.

 

Seeing her hesitation, the Hound grunted and grabbed Sansa by the waist, raising her over his hips while eliciting a squeak of surprise from her. She landed over him, knees far apart and folds resting over his manhood. Blushing madly, Sansa shifted her position and groaned at the sharp sensation the friction created.

 

“Put it in, Sansa,” Sandor told her, eyes narrowed in lust.

 

She obeyed and rose on her knees. Circling a hand around his shaft, she pressed its head against her entrance and began - so very slowly – to slide it inside of her. She could feel her insides stretching again while some of her previous soreness was instantly revived by the action but Sansa was most of all exhilarated by the overwhelming feeling. Sandor’s stiff manhood was halfway in - both filling her hand and gradually creating an opening in her - when some of the wetness of her folds trickled along its length and reached her fingers. A part of Sansa was scandalised by all the fluids that went with the act of lovemaking; it seemed so dirty, so bestial… Still, another part of her was intensely aroused by those same details and yearned to let go of all propriety. Arching her back and throwing her head backward, Sansa removed her hand from the Hound’s member and pushed the remaining length as deeply as she could between her thighs. For a heartbeat, she was almost blinded by the impact of his full manhood in her – pain fusing into ecstasy in the most confusing fashion. Dazed, she almost fell over Sandor but robust hands held her in place.

 

Grunting softly, the man trailed his palms from Sansa’s hips up to her breasts and then all along her back down to her buttocks, cupping the cheeks firmly. “Such a beautiful bird, dancing over my cock,” he rasped when Sansa began rocking herself against him. Enraptured by her eagerness, Sandor caught her by the hips and began thrusting his shaft inside of her, attuning himself to the cadence she had established.

 

At the tight contact of his shaft inside her, the delightful throbbing Sansa had experienced earlier was quickly being revived, however, another point of pleasure was also being awoken by that particular position. Just above her entrance where the Hound’s manhood kept coming and going, the same nub of flesh that she had caressed on that night in the woods was being pressed and rubbed in such a way that the exquisite burning was slowly starting to build in her core again. She continued to push and slide against it – revelling in the delicious friction while desperately searching for the best way to trigger the bliss she remembered. Once she hit the right angle, Sansa let out a lament so unladylike and loud that she surely would have cringed if it had not felt so utterly _perfect_. Dizzied and somewhat shocked at her own wanton reaction, Sansa lost her balance and landed over Sandor’s brawny chest.

 

“Hush, little bird. Do you want my guards to find you here? The Lady Sansa _fucking_ the Hound and enjoying it?” he rasped, smirking at his jape. Softly, he brushed away the locks of hair that had fallen over Sansa’s face with his fingers but abruptly threw his head back and groaned when she resumed the movement of her hips. “Gods, Sansa,” he panted. “Believe me, you move like a bloody goddess.” 

 

Smiling coyly at the indecent praise, Sansa kissed him languorously, musing on how she loved him regardless of his crude ways. Palms flat on his chest, she propped herself upward, leaving his mouth while the Hound tightened his grip on her hips, increasing the rapidity of his thrusts. The stabbing of his taut manhood into the softness of her insides was swiftly and inexorably bringing Sansa nearer to climax and she arched her back until she was almost as curved as a bow, rolling her hips over her responsive little nub and pressing her entire weight over it. Her whole body was about to explode, or so she believed. Ripples of liquid fire were invading each of her limbs with increasing force until a final wave, more violent than she would ever have imagined possible, drifted over her – dominating her senses. Crying out in elation, Sansa fell over Sandor again, writhing and moaning in the most licentious and shameless fashion she could conjure.  

 

Holding her tight, the Hound muffled her cry with his mouth, kissing her passionately until she was silent and calm again. Wholly astounded by what she had just experienced, Sansa gazed into his eyes, finding everything she desired right there.

 

“I love you,” she whispered softly.

 

The Hound didn’t react at first but then his eyes narrowed at her.

 

“I love you, Sandor,” she repeated as much to herself as for him before meeting his lips with hers again.

 

Against anything Sansa might have believed, the kiss they shared at that moment was even more passionate than any other they had ever had. With strong, tender hands, the Hound pushed her onto her back without leaving her mouth and resumed thrusting between her thighs more frantically than ever. His manhood met no resistance in the wetness of her folds, the way a sword slid perfectly into the sheath custom-made to shelter its blade. They were nibbling at each other’s lips and sliding their tongues together as if there was no tomorrow – and indeed there wasn’t! – until Sandor’s body tensed and jerked. Letting out a deep and long moan, the man rolled onto his side barely in time to avoid spilling himself in Sansa’s belly. Seed splattered over the insides of her thighs, the fluid warm and sticky against her skin. Completely out of breath, Sansa reached for him, drowsily letting him wrap his long and muscular arms around her, pushing her head into the solid cushion of his chest.

 

****

 

The room she was in was warm and dark. An agreeable, musky scent was swirling in the air, suffusing Sansa’s nostrils and enveloping her whole body. Her skin was almost completely pressed against something that radiated heat and covered by big and heavy limbs… _Sandor! I’m still in his room!_ Sansa realised with a start. She had fallen asleep in his bed after the intense and perfect night they had shared...

 

 _What time is it?_ she wondered, terrified. Untangling herself from his grasp, Sansa searched for her nightgown on the floor. She found it easily but putting it on in the gloom was another matter. Once the struggle was done and her cloak was draped over her shoulders, she gave a sleeping Sandor one last kiss, tears pearling in her eyes and headed for the door. _The guards!_ she remembered, horror-struck. Whispering a short prayer, she opened the door and peeked outside. She didn’t see anyone from where she was. Perhaps the guards were on the other side, hidden behind the door but she neither had the time nor a way to find out. Taking a deep breath and trying to master her panic, she ran out as silently and hastily as she could, not even bothering to shut the door behind. Never looking back, she continued her flight through the long corridors until she had reached her room. Catching her breath, she finally took a look back, waiting for the worst but saw no one. The alley was as silent as a grave apart from a few birds that had started their morning songs outside the great window. It was dawn already. Thankfully, judging by the light, Sansa still had about an hour before her handmaiden came. She had time to wash… and cry.

 

****

 

“Gold?” the Hound asked, baffled, staring at the pouch that Robb held before him.

 

“Yes,” the younger man answered, trying to hide his unease. “It’s to thank you for having taken good care of my sister. You’ve protected her, brought her safe and whole to us and for that, the North is grateful.”

 

Scowling, Sandor narrowed distrustful eyes at Robb and grunted something unintelligible before seizing the pouch. The man glanced in Sansa’s direction, grey eyes as cold as steel but shortly returned his gaze to the king.

 

“I’ll find use for that,” he rasped, putting the pouch away in Stranger’s saddlebag.

 

The early morning sun didn’t reflect on the Hound’s dark grey armour although the sunbeam was almost strong enough to forget the coldness of the autumn air. He and his stallion were the darkest things in the yard, seemingly coming straight from the gloom of the night. The thought produced shivers all over Sansa’s body as images from their stolen night of passion flashed in her mind.

 

Two hours at the most had passed since she had left the warmth of Sandor’s pallet. For fear that Beckie, her handmaiden, might detect the Hound’s scent on her, Sansa’s first actions after arriving in her room had been to slip her nightgown over her head and rub a wet towel all over her body. In other conditions, she wouldn’t have been so eager to rid herself of his mark but the present situation required that she act swiftly. Once she was clean enough for her taste, she had laid her tired limbs over her featherbed and pulled the thick sheets over her frail body. It was a strange thing to regret rough, cotton linens and the hardness of a thin straw mattress when settled over a featherbed…  

 

The rest of Sansa’s dawning hours had been split between mad fits of giggles and swoons followed by long and heartbreaking sobs. Beckie had eyed her strangely when she had entered the chamber and seen her puffy, red eyes but the woman had thankfully not uttered any comment. The handmaiden had helped her dress and brushed her long hair, swearing under her breath in annoyance at how exceptionally tangled it was this morning. Once her appearance was acceptable, Sansa had left her room and rushed to the yard, fearing all the way that she had missed the Hound’s departure, however, the day had only just begun and thus the man had still been there, surrounded by his guards while squires fixed the last plates of his armour over his back and chest. For a few minutes, Sansa had stayed in the shadows of the doorway, at a loss as to how to address him in front of all those people after what they had shared and certain that anyone who watched her would see right through her demure attitude and formal phrases. Tears had pooled in her eyes, forcing her to sponge them away with her sleeve – against Septa Mordane’s every teaching – while gulping hard to keep the sobs at bay. She hadn’t noticed Robb’s footsteps behind her as he approached and had jumped at feeling his hand squeezing her shoulder.

 

“Come. Let’s go give our farewells,” he had gently told her while leading her outside.

 

She had followed him without a word and now, here she was, gazing at the man she loved for the last time in her life. The idea that she would never see him again was extremely hard to grasp for Sansa. A lifetime without him was an abstract concept. Tears were threatening to fill her eyes every time she blinked but she had promised herself she would show a brave face and she intended to keep her word.

 

Buckled at his hips, Sandor’s sword belt hung empty. His weapons were still in his guards’ possession and the men were instructed to escort him a half day’s ride away from Riverrun before they gave them back for reasons Sansa didn’t quite understand. Did Robb truly fear that he would come back and attack the castle by himself?

 

“Well, I reckon I should be on my way now,” the Hound announced with a total lack of enthusiasm, while jumping into Stanger’s saddle. “Good luck with the war, _Your Grace_ ,” he muttered in Robb’s direction, barely masking the contempt in his voice when speaking the title. Turning his gaze on Sansa, he stared at her for an instant, something like resentment gleaming in his eyes. “Farewell, Lady Sansa,” he rasped flatly, his mouth twitching a single time at that.

 

A moment later, the Hound was heading toward the drawbridge, followed by the group of mounted guards who would escort him out of Sansa’s life. Forever.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello girls!
> 
> I had originally planned to post this chapter and the final one at the same time but I changed my mind in the end and decided I’d rather give you something to chew on while you wait. I warn you though; after this one they’ll only be the final one remaining. It feels so weird to think about it!!!  
> I hope you’ll all enjoy this one and I’d really like to get your take on it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Sandor**

The thick mist of sleep that had enveloped his consciousness had taken its sweet time dissolving. Sandor usually didn’t linger in bed but the dreams that had crowded his night had been too perfect to leave without a combat and therefore, he had willed with all his might for sleep to swallow him again but that wasn’t a fight Sandor’s skills could win. Lying alone on his pallet, the foggy memory of his ordinarily _so shy_ little bird finding her way to his chamber with no other wish than to be fucked senseless had quickly come back to him. In all likelihood, Sandor would have ended up believing the whole thing to be a buggering delusion if not for the small drop of blood that stained the linens where Sansa had lain. Under the dawning light, its dark brownish-red hue had reminded Sandor of the petal of a dying rose. _The little bird’s precious maidenhead, lost over rough linens in the dark of the night with an even rougher man,_ he mused, thinking back on that morning while staring at the pouring rain outside the small hollow where he hid at the base of a rock formation. About a fortnight had passed since that twice-blasted day when he had had no other _fucking_ choice than to leave the girl in her family’s care.

 

The course of the night had not taken long to come back to him. In a succession of images, each more arousing than the last, every detail of the blessed hours Sansa had been his had flashed through his mind and never stopped. Even now as he travelled through the Riverlands, the little bird’s unexpected visit occupied his every thought. The memory of that soft and frail naked body brushing against his, of those plump lips, pink and parted as they cried in ecstasy, of her eyes rolling when she reached her peak, of her firm teats in his hands and of her cunt so tight but also, _so fucking perfect_ around his cock… all of those and _much more_ were now apparently all he could think about for longer than a few minutes straight. The girl had been so sweet and eager, wrapping her thin arms around him and breathing his name in gasps of pleasure while spreading her pretty white thighs as widely as she could, wishing naught more than for his cock to thrust as deeply as it could into her… _And she told you she loved you, dog,_ he repeated to himself before snorting and spitting into the wall of rain that fell before him.

 

Unsheathing his sword, the man began his daily ritual of cleaning the cold steel. The sharp sound of the blade as the whetstone brushed over its edge was soothing as a lullaby to Sandor’s ears. The maintenance of his weapons was as much an obligation as a pastime to him; he had always enjoyed the process and would undoubtedly have found the nights pretty damned long without the activity to occupy him. That and also the knowledge that the very blade he worked upon would slaughter anyone stupid enough to get in his way was intoxicating. Being battle ready at any buggering given time had been second nature to Sandor ever since he could recall, a habit he would certainly never lose but lately the importance of the deadliness of his weapons had dramatically increased in his mind, for he was on a mission of his own choosing for the very first time in his life.

 

_Little bird. I’m coming for you._

 

**Sansa**

 

Although dawn was now well past, the shy autumn sun was so faint that Sansa might have believed night was still upon them had she not been awakened several hours ago. Having only ever known summer, she already missed the season so terribly. Every day that went by was noticeably shorter than the previous one to the point where she now had to wonder if Old Nan’s stories of the Long Night were not true after all. The idea was more than frightening to say the least.

 

Still, with or without sufficient daylight, life had to go on and thus, the usual morning preparations had been unfolding for a few hours now. It always took an awfully long time for the column to be ready to depart and therefore Sansa and Dacey Mormont had taken up a habit of strolling around the camp to pass the time every morning. Today was no exception and through their walk, they had found a small clearing filled with apple trees but the hopes they had had at first had quickly grown as sparse as the sunbeams.

 

“They’re wrinkled and rotten in this one too,” Dacey commented, disappointment and disgust in her voice.

 

The fruits that hung in the nearest tree were all brownish and small. The two girls had now inspected each and every last tree they had found but not a single one of their apples had appeared to be edible.

 

“Is the season really over so soon? Autumn is hardly done yet,” Sansa complained to the emptiness before her.

 

“Well, perhaps the trees will bloom again in a few weeks and more will grow before winter comes but we’ll be far from here by then,” the tall girl answered, wrinkling her nose at the spongy feel of an apple under her forefinger. “These ones are well beyond lost. Even my horse would turn his nose up if I offered him one and that says a lot as he’s usually such a glutton!” 

 

Smiling sadly at her friend’s jest, Sansa distractedly caressed the trunk of the nearest tree. “Still, I’m surprised all of them have already gone foul. Only a few weeks back, we had the nicest apples –it was lovely! - but we were still in the Westerlands then. The seasons must be different up here in the north of the Riverlands…” Sansa regretted, sighing deeply.

 

“We? You and the Hound, you mean?” Dacey asked, raising an eyebrow.

    

 _I really should stop mentioning him so often. I forget myself!_ Sansa mused, blushing at her inadvertent slip. It was hard for her not to mention him. She was constantly compelled to speak Sandor’s name as if by doing so, she might somehow be able to bring him back. “Yes, that’s what I meant,” she murmured, willing her tone to sound casual.

 

Dacey eyed her with suspicion but didn’t utter any comment. Instead, she turned around and gazed in the camp’s direction. She was garbed in breeches, high boots and wore thin leather armour and looked very fierce, Sansa reflected, especially with the long dagger that hung at her hip.

 

“I can’t wait to hear the horn blow to call us to leave. It’s already almost past mid-morning, by the gods! ” Dacey muttered, exasperated. “It seems as if we’ll never get to the Twins. I still have a hard time believing we’re now only a couple of days away.”

 

Sansa nodded her agreement although the older girl’s back was to her. She was growing extremely weary of all the constant travelling and the break that would represent her uncle’s wedding would be more than welcome. The journey north was far more difficult than she had presumed. It was queer; although her time with the Hound had lacked all the comforts she presently had, her sleep came far less easily these days. She may sleep in a tent over a cot and eat meals that were varied and warm three times each day, yet those details were now totally meaningless to her. Sansa might as well have laid over rocks and fed on earth and she would not have felt any worse. Life had been so much more pleasant while she crossed the Westerlands with Sandor. Every hour she had spent with him by her side had been as exciting as the grandest of tourneys in comparison to the boring day-to-day routine her reality was now made of. Sighing, the girl sat on a large boulder – the only passably dry surface that surrounded her – and brought her knees to her breasts, gaze lost before her.

 

Sandor had been right to prefer travelling light, Sansa had shortly come to realise. The party she was with these days was composed of thousands of men at arms, servants and camp followers of all sorts and such a large group advanced painfully slowly. The weather wasn’t helping either; showers of rain were drowning them most of the time and the road beneath their feet was extremely muddy and slippery. Regularly, a horse would slip and fall. The column sometimes had to wait more than an hour before the beast was fully examined and then either saved or killed. Sansa was heartbroken every time the latter was decided. Her tears did come terribly easily these days...

 

Sansa shared a tent with her mother and therefore she had been forced to muffle the sobs that had shaken her every night since the morning Sandor had left Riverrun. Her pillow was always so wet by dawn that she had no doubt her handmaiden had noticed something odd but the woman had thankfully kept silent so far. Sansa had used the excuse of the hardship of the travel to explain the redness of her eyes and tautness of her face whenever someone had mentioned how tired she looked and everyone had always apparently bought her story. Were they all truly that blind to how grieved she was over the loss of her one true love? Was it not as evident as the sun on a glorious summer’s day how distraught and empty she felt? Although she should have been thanking the gods that her family had not guessed the true reason for her state, Sansa was nevertheless utterly annoyed that none of them could divine the nature of her distress. She felt as if her heart had been cut in two and one half stolen from its place but no one seemed to either notice or care. They had believed her lies with no questions asked. _The Hound would not have been fooled so easily. He could smell lies miles away and always knew how to see right through me._ Sansa missed him so…

Life was so dull without him by her side. No one spoke like him in their camp, or if they did, they would never _dare_ in Sansa’s presence. The men that surrounded her were treating her with so much reverence that it annoyed her to no end! She was like a beautiful object to be admired from afar for fear of breaking or spoiling it - too fragile and too _pure_ to be touched. Sansa almost snorted at the thought. If only they knew…

 

Most of all, however, Sansa missed being the centre of attention, the one thing that mattered in someone’s eyes. Sandor had always made her feel so important and desired; naught else captivated his interest more intently than her presence. Ever since her time in King’s Landing, he had always been _completely_ captivated by her, or so he had told her but Sansa had no difficulty believing his word where that was concerned; it was something she had felt herself even before she could understand it.

 

Against anything she might ever have foreseen, she had grown in time to love the Hound too, to a point where she had been willing to grant him the one thing a maiden can offer once, a gift meant for her lord husband alone. The last night they had shared had been so magical, intense but also… _dirty and bestial_. The reality of what occurred between lovers was kept secret from maidens; she would _never_ have expected most of what had transpired between them. At the memory of their lovemaking, Sansa’s eyes still grew wide with shock but the flush that would creep all over her skin was not caused by shame… There was something else, far stronger and more profound that vibrated through her anytime she let her mind wander to that night of passion. She had tasted the forbidden fruit - had been soiled by its flavour - and would never recover…

 

Every moment of her last night with Sandor, Sansa had relished. She kept turning the events over in her mind, wishing for their bodies to mingle once more, to be one as they had been, as they were meant to be joined. Her only consolation was that she had had the chance to live them, to decide on her own the ending to their love story. As tragic as it was, their romance was as beautiful as the saddest and most touching song she had ever heard. Too highborn for the man she loved, Sansa had sacrificed her purity for the sake of showing him how much he meant to her and with the gesture, she had proved to him that naught would have stopped her from being his if not for the duty she had toward her family, people and land. A tear rolled down her cheek at the thought and Sansa swiftly wiped it away, fearing that Dacey might notice.

 

“Do you think everything will go well with the wedding?” Dacey suddenly asked, still staring toward the camp.

 

The cloud of her thoughts instantly dissolving around her, Sansa frowned at her friend. “Why should there be any problem?”

 

Dacey turned her head back to gaze at her. “Well, I heard the Freys were vindictive bastards for one.” Grinning at Sansa’s gasp, the tall girl continued. “I’m only repeating what others have told me!” she justified with amusement. “Even without that undeniable fact, you can expect that a man who’s been promised to become grandfather to a king will not be too pleased when the terms of the contract are changed and his daughter ends up being betrothed to a mere lord instead.”

 

“Edmure is not just _any_ lord though. He rules over the whole Riverlands now that my grandfather is dead,” Sansa promptly retorted.

 

“Still, that’s not the same as a king, is it?”

 

Sansa had to agree. With a sigh, she reflected for the hundredth time on Robb’s decision to marry Jeyne. The cost had been exceedingly high for the North and its allies but at least it had allowed her brother to follow his heart. A pang of jealousy stabbed her at the recollection.

 

“This is going to be some tense wedding. I’m not certain exactly what to expect but the atmosphere at the honour table won’t be too jolly, believe my word on that,” Dacey predicted, tone low and brooding.

 

Smiling, Sansa raised her chin from her knees and wolfishly glanced at her friend. “Especially if the bride is as ugly as Edmure believes she will be. He keeps complaining to whoever stands in his presence long enough that he’ll end up marrying a maiden so hideous that the Tully bloodline won’t ever recover afterwards.”

 

Both girls giggled at the foolish notion. It was good to laugh - Sansa had missed it – but the melancholy in her was rooted far too deeply to vanish completely, even for the shortest of moments. She almost felt guilty, as if allowing joy to seep through her gloom without Sandor by her side was the same as being unfaithful to him. The idea made her instantly lose her smile and she leaned her chin over her knees again, lowering her eyes to the soaked ground.

 

Dacey had turned her attention in the camp’s direction again. From where they were, Sansa could hear the distant echo of orders followed by the loud booming sounds of carts being filled. As she saw them, the workers and soldiers were as small as ants and worked with the same meaningless and pathetic ardour the bugs did while building their sand castles.

 

Shortly engrossed in her reverie once more, Sansa didn’t even notice the dark, towering shape that was taking form in the bushes at her side. When the shadow finally reached her, she jumped and jerked her head up, barely managing not to gasp aloud as she realised who it was but thankfully bit her tongue just in time. _Sandor!_ Heart pounding madly, she raised both hands to her gaping mouth. _What is he doing here?_

 

Pressing his forefinger over his lips, the man bade her to stay silent and Sansa obeyed, trembling. Despite what was customary for him while travelling, the Hound had removed his armour and only wore a studded leather jerkin over dark woollen garb instead. It was good seeing him but Sansa’s joy at his unexpected appearance was too tainted with fear that he’d be caught and executed to be pure and agreeable. Most of all however, she was exceedingly confused. Had he really followed the column _all this time_ and passed Robb’s sentries at the risk of his life only to see her again? This was insane!

 

An old piece of cloth stretched tight between his raised fists, the Hound was slowly approaching Dacey and Sansa’s breath caught in her throat when she realised what he was about to do.

 

The older girl heard her and immediately turned around, a jolt passing through her and her eyes widening when she came face to face with the Hound. Losing no time, she reached for her dagger and took a step back but Sandor was faster. In an instant, he had her arms under control but Dacey briskly kicked him in the thigh instead with so much force that he almost lost his hold on her.

 

“Sansa!” she yelled, her eyes wild with fear and anger. “Run!”

 

Completely petrified by what was taking place, the young girl was as immobile as a statue, watching in horror as the man she loved fought against the sole friend she had made in years. “Stop it! Both of you!” was all she managed to squeak out.

 

Gathering speed, the Hound threw his arm back and hit Dacey over the head with the side of his hand. At the impact, the girl became soft as a rag and fell to the floor. A heartbeat later, Sandor was crouched over her, tying the piece of cloth he had carried over her face and unrolling the long rope that had hung at his belt seconds earlier. _Why did he have to hurt Dacey?_ Sansa anxiously wondered but then almost instantly replied to her own question. _She would never have let him talk to me and would have called for help._

 

Not feeling the least bit better for knowing the answer, Sansa instinctively braced herself and rose from her seat. “What are you doing?” she asked, increasingly more dumbfounded and uneasy.

 

“Tying her up. She was stronger than I assumed. A second later and she would have alerted the whole buggering camp,” the Hound rasped flatly while circling the long rope all around Dacey’s body.

 

“But… but why?” Sansa whispered, her voice as small as a child’s.

 

Raising his gaze from his work, Sandor looked at her with a certain annoyance. “You think I’d leave her like that?” he asked lowly, with the tone of someone irked at having to state the obvious. “We’d be caught _moments_ from now. I didn’t truly hurt her; she’s sure not to sleep for very long.” With that, he returned his attention to his knot.

 

“We?” Sansa wondered out loud, taking a step back from him.

 

“Aye. You and I, little bird,” the man replied, rising to his full height and slowly approaching her. “Now hurry up. We can’t afford to lose time.”

 

 Taking another step back from him, Sansa felt her eyes grow even larger. “Where do you plan on taking me?”

 

Smirking, Sandor snorted at her question. “Anywhere far enough that they won’t take you away from me.”

 

At hearing his reply, Sansa’s heart almost stopped beating from the force of the confusion that was hitting her. Butterflies filled her stomach as she finally realised that the Hound had followed Robb’s army and passed through his sentries –the gods only knew how! – with the sole purpose of having her for himself but shivers quickly went down her spine as her surprise mixed with consternation and horror. What would her family think? What about Winterfell and the North? she wondered, dismayed but then another disturbing thought shook her. _He came to abduct me._

 

Seeing her terrified expression, Sandor sighed and halted. “Wasn’t that what you asked for when you came to my bed that night? You gave yourself to me - all warm and eager - I didn’t ask for it. Although, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you… _and still do_ , even more now that I’ve tasted you.” The Hound’s eyes roved over her curves as he said his last sentence, his gaze burning with lust.

 

“I didn’t ask for anything,” Sansa breathed out, shivering like a leaf.

 

“Aye, you did,” the man retorted almost angrily, taking another stride toward her. “You told me you wanted to be mine and asked me to _take_ you.”

 

“But it was only for the night!” she exclaimed.

 

“ _Only for the night_ ,” Sandor mocked bitterly. “You thought I’d fuck you and then leave you for another man to take even after you offered yourself so bloody willingly to me?” His scowl deepening, the man narrowed his eyes at her. “You even told me you _loved me_ … or perhaps you were lying?” His tone was threatening on the last sentence.

 

“Oh no, Sandor! I would never! And I _still_ love you-” Sansa cried out with conviction.

 

“Then why the fuck are you _whining_ so much?” he cut her off, both irritated and confounded. “Shouldn’t you want to be with me if you did?”

 

Throughout the last two weeks, Sansa had prayed to the Seven more than a hundred times to find a way to reunite her with Sandor once more but never had she envisioned or wished for things to happen in such an abhorrent fashion. “Sandor,” she began, voice trembling. “I… I do want to be with you but I can’t leave my family, I… I have to follow them home. You can’t abduct me like that-”  

 

“But I don’t see any other _fucking_ way!” he exploded, something like sincerity piercing through his fury. Daunted, Sansa took a step back but Sandor swiftly seized her upper arm with a firm but gentle grip to prevent her from going any further. “I’m _sorry_ if this is not how you had envisioned leaving your family’s nest but I’m a pragmatic man and my goal is to have you, _no matter_ the cost and manner,” he resumed more calmly. “You wouldn’t have stayed with your mother forever anyhow. Women never do. Where marriage is concerned, you females are bigger travellers than men to be sure.” Softly, the Hound brushed away the tears that were starting to roll down Sansa’s cheeks with his free hand. “At least with me, you know with whom you’re going and as you told me yourself you wished to be with me, I figure I’m doing you a favour really even if you don’t agree just now.”  With that, he turned around and began leading her out of the clearing.

 

Offering no resistance, Sansa let him drag her through the woods, drowning in a sea of thoughts while at the same time unable to comprehend any of what went through her mind. Her heart was adrift between two shores, filled with sorrow and confusion as to how she should feel. Shouldn’t Sansa be happy to be with Sandor again? She had missed him so much as to believe she might die from the hole he had left in her soul and therefore, to realise that he had never been truly far from her - perhaps just a few miles behind at all time – was beyond dumbfounding. He wanted her enough to risk his life creeping into Robb’s camp and would have been ready to brave any danger only to get his hands on her again but at the same time, his intentions were still to steal her away from her family, the North and her destiny _against her will_. This was not something he was supposed to do! What would her brother’s men think when they found Dacey tied up on the clearing’s floor, when she told them that it was the Hound who was responsible for Sansa’s disappearance? _Robb will send men after us and if they get Sandor, they’ll kill him,_ the girl reflected, panicked and wishing naught more than for him to run free.

 

On the other hand, if the Hound was fast enough, Sansa would never get to see her family again and to honour her father’s memory by fulfilling her duty. Neither option was to her taste; Sansa belonged in the North with her family but she couldn’t bring herself to scream for help either as this would likely sign the Hound’s death warrant. _Why can’t he understand that I love him and will always do so but that I can’t forsake the life that has been planned for me even before my birth? A Stark can’t act always as she wishes. This is not right!_ Sniffing, Sansa glanced up at the man. He was staring straight ahead and striding so fast that Sansa could barely keep up with him. Anger suddenly shook her as a new thought formed in her mind. _In the end, Sandor’s no better than Mother and Robb,_ she decided, frowning. _He thinks he knows better than I what I want and prefers to overlook my feelings and choices as if I were only a foolish child who’s own free will couldn’t be trusted,_ Sansa mused, barely seeing anything through the tears of rage that welled in her eyes. On a whim, she shrugged off the grip the man had on her upper arm and fled from him.

 

“Where are you going, Sansa?” she heard him growl from behind, not daring to turn back to see if he was following. He would, she knew it.

 

Skirts bunched up in her hands, Sansa ran faster than she would have ever believed possible, jumping over sodden dead trees and turning around bushes with the speed of a flying bird. By some miracle, she managed to avoid all the obstacles in her path without tripping so much as once. Taken by surprise by her sudden flight, the Hound had apparently been slow to follow, for she could barely hear him behind. Perhaps she would be able to reach camp before Sandor caught up with her and then, the man would resign himself and turn back to the depths of the woods where he came from. _Is it really what I want?_ she wondered, exasperated by the conflict that burned in her core. Tears blinding her, Sansa suddenly lost her footing and slipped down a slope she hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t truly high - mayhap seven or eight yards - but once she had rolled all the way down, the shock dazed her for a second or two. When she turned round, she could hear the Hound approaching dangerously and only had time to crawl behind a thick oak tree before the man reached the top of the slope.

 

For a moment, the forest was silent and still; all Sansa could hear was the sound of her own ragged breathing. It was as if Sandor had mysteriously vanished into thin air, as if he had surrendered that easily and left but Sansa knew better than to believe such nonsense. Her back pressed against the trunk, the girl struggled to calm the frantic beating of her heart, biting her lip and tasting the salt of her tears while waiting for something to happen. The ground was soaked beneath her; its wetness seeping through her cloak and gown and the coldness she felt at the contact only added to the increasing shivering of her body.

 

“The little bird is hiding,” the Hound’s hoarse voice cut through the stillness of the woods just as Sansa was starting to wonder if he had not in fact truly decamped. Jumping down the slope, he began strolling toward her and Sansa could have sworn she could feel his heavy footsteps vibrating through the ground as he approached. “It’s no use, Sansa. You know I’ll find you, wherever you are. Have you forgotten that hounds are the best at finding their quarry?” The man sniffed loudly. “I can already smell your scent from here. I know you’re near”

 

 _How did it ever come to this?_ Sansa wondered, lowering her soaked face to her quivering hands. Lovers weren’t supposed to chase each other in such a way and the Hound was meant to be her protector, not her _assailant_! Although, there had been another time, Sansa remembered, near a river in the Westerlands where she had run from him in a very similar fashion but it had all been a game back then. It seemed like a lifetime ago although only a few weeks had passed since. She had been thrilled to be caught back then but now…

 

An unexpected jolt of strength suddenly overtaking her, Sansa hurriedly shook herself and looked around her in search of a way to flee. Spying some thick bushes not too far before her, she crouched before literally jumping into them, hoping against all hope that Sandor wouldn’t notice her moving in the near darkness. It was pointless, evidently. Crawling on all fours through the branches and leaves, Sansa listened as the man strode toward her.

 

“I’ve seen you, Sansa,” he warned her lowly.

 

The loud creaks of crushed branches resounded from behind Sansa, growing closer with each passing second, until strong hands caught her by the waist. Against all logic, she struggled for an instant but the man was quick to raise her to her feet and immobilise her against his body.

 

Sighing, the Hound took the time to breathe in a few times, his large chest heaving up and down against Sansa’s head. “I got you, little bird,” he muttered, tightening his grip around Sansa’s elbows and pulling her so that her back was pressed flush against his torso. “Now, will I need to tie you like I did that friend of yours? I’ll do it if you don’t give me any other damned option, _believe me_ ,” the man hissed into Sansa’s hair with a calm anger that froze her to the bone.

 

Breathless and unable to utter a sound, the girl promptly shook her head.

 

“That’s the good little bird I know,” the Hound murmured, some trace of irritation still lingering in his voice. “Give me your word you won’t try to flee again.”

 

“I won’t. I promise,” Sansa managed to voice, sniffing and staring at the ground.

 

No words could have possibly described how terrible she felt at that instant. The notion that she had just fled from Sandor as if he meant nothing to her was starting to dawn on Sansa and with it, an intent rush of shame flowed over her. She already regretted her actions but at the same time, guilt consumed her at the prospect of abandoning her family without giving them even a _single_ word of explanation. On both sides, she felt like a traitor; a disloyal lover and a miscreant daughter at once. Had anyone ever been as torn and miserable as she was?

 

Grunting in approval, the Hound raised a hand to Sansa’s hair and caressed the long curls with his fingers. “That’s much better now,” he said flatly. “I won’t bind you but I’ll not take more chances than I need to either.” As he finished his sentence, he turned Sansa around, bowed and hoisted her over his shoulder.

 

In the blink of an eye, she was raised high and from there, she could see the camp from afar even better than previously, especially once he had climbed the slope again. In the distance, it seemed as calm as it had been before; no one had likely realised her disappearance yet. How long would it take for her fate to be known? What would her family’s reaction be?

 

The Hound strode through the woods for a long time but Sansa couldn’t have guessed if it had been an hour or two - or perhaps less - when they reached Stranger at last. On their way, they had briefly passed by the dead body of one of Robb’s sentries, lying on the ground, a sword wound going from his neck to the middle of his chest. Horror-struck, Sansa had voicelessly stared at the poor soul as they moved away and hadn’t been able to free her mind of the image since. With each of his movements, she could feel Sandor’s solid muscles contract beneath her and once in a while, his thick arm would readjust the unyielding hold he had on her. He was so strong; no man could ever possibly withstand him. Sansa sighed deeply. Never would she have imagined the idea might one day lose some of its old appeal to her.

 

“You… you did this? You killed the sentry?” she finally managed to ask weakly once the Hound had settled her into his horse’s saddle.

 

“I didn’t have much choice if I wanted to get to you, did I? I killed a couple of others too but I did it _all_ for you, pretty bird.” His lips stretching into a joyless half smile, Sandor stroked Sansa’s face and dried her tears with calloused fingers. “Don’t cry, Sansa. Chances are they’d have died fighting in the war anyhow.”

 

His excuse only managing to make her feel even more terrible, Sansa jerked her head away from his touch and began sobbing but the Hound cupped her cheek with a hand and tenderly pushed back the wild curls that fell over her eyes with the other.

 

“Hush, Sansa. Shhh,” he whispered as softly as he could. “I know you don’t like bloodshed but - by the seven hells, girl! - there was no other _damned_ option and believe me, there’s not a _fucking_ thing I’m not prepared to do for you,” the man rasped, the intensity in his voice growing as he went. “I promise you though that this’ll be the last you’ll ever suffer. I’ll take good care of you – treat you like a queen from one of those buggering ballads you love so much - and keep you safe until the day I die. You won’t ever lack for anything once this is all over, you have my word on that.”

 

While a part of Sansa wanted to be touched by what he had just told her, another was too stunned by the whole situation to be moved by his declarations and promises. Sandor had killed for her before, that was true enough, however these sentries had not deserved their fate. They were good men, working for the North, only guilty of having stood between the Hound and her. Besides, how could he pretend being so devoted to her while he had not heeded her demands moments earlier when she had begged him to leave her to her family? If he was indeed truly willing to do _anything_ for her, then shouldn’t he be ready to sacrifice too?  The hypocrisy of the Hound’s words made Sansa frown even more deeply and she defiantly turned her head away from him.

 

Grunting in displeasure at the gesture, the man glared at her for an instant but then abruptly swung himself up behind her. Sansa could sense frustration oozing from him but he nonetheless stayed silent, perhaps in an attempt to respect the distance she was putting between them although she doubted it was truly the case. After all, it was a little late to show regard now that he had chosen to ignore her feelings and made her his prisoner for real. _I’m his in truth now,_ Sansa reflected, not certain of how she should feel about the knowledge.

 

The rest of the day’s ride was long and awkward. In some ways, Sansa kept wishing she had it in her to break the silence and reach out to Sandor, touch the arms that flanked her and find the comfort she desperately thirsted for in their strength. It wouldn’t be hard; all she’d need to do was to swallow her pride and address him again. If she smiled at him and leaned into his torso, Sandor would undoubtedly lose no time wrapping long and heavy arms around her and perhaps even kiss her neck and caress her face. He’d be glad for any sort of exchange with her, Sansa knew it. In fact, a sign from her was _all_ he was waiting for; she could feel it in the way his attention was constantly drawn to her, by how he watched her every movement. Sandor was obviously _dying_ for her to talk to him and welcome his touch again… but she couldn’t. Not after what he had done. Just thinking back on how everything had unfolded was enough for Sansa’s anger to be awakened all over again. She longed to make him understand how indignant she was at his actions, how wounded she felt that he had not considered her more. For now though, she pressed her lips together in a thin line, hoping that by the action she might prevent the words that threatened to leave her mouth every now and then from spilling free. She’d make the Hound pay for his deeds by ignoring him if that was the only weapon she had against him.

 

It was pitch dark when they finally halted in some small clearing by a creek. Sansa had seen hundreds that were similar since she had left King’s Landing, slept in dozens and highly doubted she might know how to differentiate this one from any other she had visited. Fearful that smoke might alert one of the squads that were certain to have been sent after them, Sandor hesitated before starting a fire but finally settled for an extremely small one, one so tiny in fact that Sansa would have sworn no heat was emitted from its flames at all.

 

It was staggering how identical their situation was to the one Sansa had grown accustomed to before their stay at the Braxs’ castle. She almost felt as if she had turned back time, having once more only one set of clothing to call her own and a single bedroll to share with the Hound. Albeit, sharing was the wrong word as the old thing was far too small to accommodate them both. Sandor would need to sleep elsewhere, perhaps leaning against a tree as he had done previously. The weather was colder than it had been a few weeks ago however and Sansa was beginning to worry that he might catch cold with only his cloak and no blanket as she settled her bedroll beside the fire but she hastily chased the thought away. Sandor was the sole one to be blamed for their current situation and she therefore shouldn’t pity him if he lost some of his comfort for her. He had made all the decisions that had led them to this clearing freely and knowingly and that alone was enough to justify her indifference toward him.

 

Sitting on the bedroll with her legs pulled up to her breasts, Sansa watched the Hound with a glare as he watered and brushed Stranger. Anytime he turned his gaze to her, she swiftly averted her eyes from him and tried to pretend as if she didn’t notice his attention. Evidently irritated, the man was becoming increasingly tense, working in short, fast movements while his mouth twitched more and more persistently. Shutting her eyes, Sansa tried to convince herself that she didn’t mind the hostility between them and that she had the force to bear the tension that hung so heavily in the air or it might be cut to pieces with the Hound’s sword. It was pointless but she couldn’t surrender so soon either. Not after what he had done. 

 

The saddlebag was settled not far from Sansa and some pieces of the Hound’s armour peeked out of its pockets, their dark, unpolished steel barely reflecting the flames of the fire. _He probably removed his armour to move faster and more quietly when he came to fetch me,_ Sansa surmised while staring absentmindedly at a large plate. At some point, the hue became as dark as the night and Sansa grew taut as she realised that the shadow that loomed over her was none other than Sandor. He was just a step from her but she didn’t raise her gaze and acted as if she hadn’t noticed his approach.

 

“You’re hungry?” he asked after a moment.

 

Stubbornly, Sansa kept her stare on the ground and shook her head, lying even though she knew it was not worth trying with him.

 

“I don’t believe you. You ought to be starving after such a long ride,” the Hound replied sternly. Taking a place on the ground beside her, he stretched an arm towards the saddlebag and fished out a large loaf of bread and some hard cheese. Once he had cut a few pieces with his dagger, he handed them to Sansa while watching her with relentless eyes. Glancing at his offering for a second, the girl quickly turned her head around in silent refusal, circling her arms even more tightly around her legs. “No. You _eat_ ,” the Hound insisted while snatching her hand from its place and forcing the food into its palm.

 

Sighing, Sansa conceded without a fight as she was indeed hungry but tried to hide her eagerness by nibbling very gently at the food. She could feel Sandor’s gaze intently boring into her but she made a point of not looking back. He nevertheless seemed satisfied by his small victory.

 

“That’s much better,” he rasped through a mouthful of bread.

 

They ate in silence and without moving much until the food was all gone but even then, Sandor didn’t shift from his place by Sansa’s side. He stayed there and stared at the fire for a while – almost as if he were waiting for something. Propped on a hand and with his legs stretched lazily before him, he was sitting so near Sansa that she could feel his warmth radiating around him and his breath coming over her face, neck and hair when he glanced down at her. The arm that supported his weight was settled just behind her back and shamelessly touching her. It seemed as if with each passing minute, Sandor was leaning even closer to Sansa to the point where she was now feeling the hardness of his leather jerkin against her arm and back and his hair brushing over the side of her face. In reaction, the girl only curled even more deeply into herself and lowered her chin over her knees.

 

Either oblivious or unconcerned about Sansa’s unspoken message, the man began nuzzling at her neck and hair. “Little bird,” he murmured in her ear.

 

Hardening under his touch, Sansa tried to shrug him away but the Hound grabbed her by the waist, cupped her jaw and turned her face to him. “What is it, Sansa? At least _speak out_ , by the Seven Hells!” he commanded, his face darkening when she didn’t reply. “Stop sulking, girl! I’ve already told you I was _sorry_ for all the shit I’ve put you through today. What more do you want from me?” he asked with a sincerity that angered Sansa even more.

 

Hundreds of retorts passed through her mind at that moment and she yearned to scream them all to him at the top of her lungs but settled on keeping silent and avoiding his gaze instead. His face only an inch from hers, the Hound waited for a few heartbeats. Out the corner of her eye, Sansa could see his scowl deepening even more.

 

“Why won’t you look at me, Sansa? You know that’s the _one thing_ I’ve always wanted from you,” he muttered lowly in a tone of both reproach and wrath. Snorting, he added with derision, “It’s even the first damned thing I ever asked of you.”

 

The recollection of those faraway times gave Sansa pause. He had indeed chided her many times and more about the reluctance she had to look at him back then, straight in the face. While she was in King’s Landing, she had been too frightened of him, of his terrible scars and raging eyes, to gaze at him longer than a glance but things had changed in so many ways since then. If now Sansa was so tenaciously averting her eyes from his, it was for much different reasons - based on the sorrow he had caused her _himself_ \- but she nevertheless couldn’t stop a jolt of remorse from stabbing her core at that moment. Hesitantly, she began raising her eyes, very slowly, until she was staring right at him. He seemed angry but his expression softened when their gazes met and something like surprise passed over his features at her sudden responsiveness. Their faces were so near one another that their noses almost touched and Sansa breathed in deeply at the warm and strong feeling their closeness triggered in her. Her restraint forgotten for a few seconds, she let Sandor’s eyes absorb her and willingly fell into their grey pools. As always, they gleamed fiercely, reflecting all the strength and determination that made him such a fearsome man but under the layers of control, Sansa glimpsed a spark of fear and anguish, the ghost of something like vulnerability that lay deeply hidden in his soul and that had been born solely by her. He was wounded and it was her fault, she realised with a twinge. The culpability she felt nearly brought her to melt into him and kiss his pain away but she stopped herself just in time.

 

 _Why should I feel guilty and ashamed when I am the victim in this and Sandor, the sole architect of our current situation?_ she wondered, shaking herself. Was he disconcerted that she hadn’t jumped into his arms after he had knocked her friend out and tied her up, killed three of her brother’s men and stolen her away from her family against her will? Biting her lip, Sansa felt tears forming in her eyes and running down her cheeks.

 

“Stop weeping, little bird,” Sandor murmured softly, his thumb brushing the tears away and his face approaching as if he was about to kiss her.

 

“I have every right to cry,” Sansa replied in a whimper, frowning and jerking her head down to prevent his lips from meeting hers.

 

Seemingly glad to finally hear her voice after hours of silence even though she had just refused his kiss, the Hound gently lifted her chin and approached her face with his again. “Sansa, I did all this _for you_. I couldn’t possibly let you go after that last night we spent together-”

 

Pushing her palms against Sandor’s chest with all her strength, Sansa managed to free herself from his grip but the force she used added to his sudden loss brought her to fall on her side. Hastily, she crouched and backed away from him. “How can you say you did _all this_ for me when I _never_ asked for any of it?” she cried out.

 

Losing no time, she stood and took a step back but the Hound was quick to jump to his feet and take hold of her once more.

 

“You said you wouldn’t try to flee from me again, remember? You gave me your word,” he hissed, hands locked tightly around her upper arms.

 

“I was not fleeing. I just… I just _need space_!” she almost yelled, trying to free herself from his grip. She struggled shortly without result as Sandor only tightened his hold on her, pulling her flush against him. When Sansa was resigned that he wouldn’t let her go, she resumed speaking. “You act as if what you did was normal, as if it was nothing! You can’t do that, Sandor! You can’t expect me to behave as if _naught_ happened when you have just kidnapped me!”

 

The Hound snorted, his scowl deep as ever. “See, that’s _exactly_ how I feel too. You came to my bed, gave yourself to me as no woman has ever done before… you _even_ told me you loved me, by the Seven bloody buggering Hells!” At that he snorted again before lowering his face closer to Sansa’s. “You truly believed I’d let you go after that, act as if naught – as you just said - had ever happened? Find myself a hole to hide in, fuck my hand and cry for the rest of my life? That’s not who I am, Sansa. I’m not the kind of man to lick his wounds, feel sorry for himself and do _nothing_ about his condition. I’m a man of _action_ and I’ll certainly not let my chance pass under my nose when I see it. And you’re more than just a _mere_ chance, Sansa. You’re everything I want… and you _even_ want me back.”

 

“But this is just _not right_! Things are not supposed to happen in such ways!” Sansa complained, head tilted back and gazing straight at him.

 

Eyes narrowed at her, the man snorted a short dry laugh. “Who says how things are supposed to happen? Huh?! Tell me! Those _stupid songs_ you love so much again, I’d wager?” he answered to himself even before she had a chance to open her lips. “Here’s some bloody news for you, _little bird_. We’re living in the _real world_ and I’m certainly not made of the same fucking stuff as the witless heroes of your twice damned songs. I’m not going to sacrifice myself for the sake of something as inane and futile as _honour_ and I’m certainly not going to surrender and let _the damsel in distress_ have her buggering happy ending with anyone but me, even though I’m the fucking villain in this story.”  

 

“But…” Sansa breathed, eyes wide and filled with tears, at a loss as to what she might answer.

 

Firmly stroking her upper arms with his fingers while not truly loosening his hold on her, the Hound added more calmly but with undeniable finality, “You’ve sealed your fate, Sansa. You offered yourself to me and I’m not giving you back. _Ever_.”

 

The confidence with which he stated his last sentence served to convince Sansa that she would never see her family again, that she’d be the Hound’s forever. Confused as to how she should feel, her weariness became suddenly impossible to bear.

 

“I’m tired, Sandor. Let me go to my bedroll. Please,” she asked weakly, eyes lowered to the ground.

 

Narrowing his eyes at her, the Hound hesitated for some time as if he feared that by removing his hands from her, she might fly away into the sky. They couldn’t stay like that – standing in the darkness of the wood – forever though and therefore he finally let her go, watching from his place as she slid under the blankets. Without a word, Sandor found himself a tree on the other side of the fire once Sansa was settled and leaned upon its trunk. Both of them stayed silent and distant for the rest of the night and while Sansa’s sleep came with difficulty, cold and shivering as she was, she never dared call for him.

 

 

 

**_And now, a little message:_ **

****

**_You girls have no ideas how much I was excited to finally write that scene. I’ve started this whole fic mainly because I wanted to bring SanSan in a place where Sandor would kidnap Sansa and it wouldn’t be too much out of the blue but still, I didn’t want Sansa to be happy to be abducted. If she were after all, it wouldn’t be an abduction anymore._ **

****

**_Anyone who had read my other fic ‘Moon Gates’ might have noticed that I have a really unhealthy obsession about the Hound kidnapping Sansa… I don’t know why, it’s just something that I truly enjoy reading about, writing or imagining. I know, I’m wrong._ **

****

**_Anyway, I hope I haven’t shocked anyone with this. I’m waiting anxiously to get your comments. :)_ **

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello girls!
> 
> Whoaaa! The final chapter!!!!! Let’s see if you like it!
> 
> I’d also like to give a giant thanks to my beta Wildsky_Sheri who helped me all through the process of writing this story. Without her, it would never have been as good!

**Sandor**

 

The weather had been far from pleasant over the past few days. Well, more precisely, it had been _fucking horrible_ and Sandor had kept cursing the Riverlands and the buggering _rivers_ that gave the damned region its name every time the stream was revived. Sure, autumn was humid everywhere but this was not just the regular seasonal rain any other part got. No, it was _much_ _worse,_ as if some mocking god had decided he had seen enough of Westeros and its thrice damned war and concluded that drowning the continent under a whole new sea was the wisest thing to do. Or perhaps it was a message from the Mother, a way she had found of punishing Sandor for having stolen someone’s daughter. _Stop that, Dog. You’ll grow devout next_ , he chided himself, irked. The thought might have held some mirth but it only made his mouth twitch.

 

Thankfully, the sky had at least stopped pissing on them so bloody heavily today. The showers hadn’t ceased completely but they were much lighter now to the point where someone who’d spent his whole life in times such as those he and the little bird had known previously might have actually taken the drops for mist. Neither of them was fooled, of course, but the respite was welcome anyhow. While it wouldn’t be enough for Sandor’s cloak to dry even slightly, the piece of clothing wouldn’t get further soaked either and thus the man was certainly not about to complain. In the end, what mattered most in his eyes was the girl’s condition and as she had been wearing a good quality cloak – probably made of the pelt of some local beast - on the morning he had come to fetch her, the dress she wore underneath was still almost completely dry. At least he wouldn’t have her suffering a fever and although the knowledge was a small relief, it was still something Sandor could cling to.

 

Five days had passed since that dawn Sandor had crept into the Northerners’ camp and stolen always their most precious and beautiful jewel. Five long and _miserable_ days, where Sansa sat in front of him in the saddle – as she did just now - sheltered under both their cloaks while leaning into him and accepting the warmth he had to offer but without giving him any of what he truly yearned for in exchange. Aye, she had stopped ignoring him completely after the fight they had had on their first night and she did reply whenever he addressed her now, however, the _conversations_ they had – and using that word was quite an overstatement – were mostly monosyllabic and always on his initiative. Still, the girl’s cold attitude wasn’t something he could really reproach her for if he wished to win her back and thus he kept trying to swallow up his anger and be gentle with her no matter how hard it was.

 

And _by the Seven Hells_ was it fucking hard indeed! More than a few times Sandor had had moments where he feared he might explode and let his annoyance show all too plainly, or even worse, yell at the little bird and shake her as he had done in his small room at Riverrun. Anytime the threat that he might lose control became too strong, the man would go for a short walk in the woods, sometimes letting off the steam by cutting down a tree or two - turning their trunks to pulp when he forgot himself.

 

Every night, the girl settled her bedroll as far as possible from the tree she thought he’d be more likely to sleep against and made it clear by her demeanour that she didn’t want him to get too near. Repeatedly, Sandor had not heeded her unspoken suggestion and let his most basic instincts take the lead by snaking an arm around her shoulders, caressing her face or nuzzling at her neck and hair. These impulses were stronger than his restraint; it was as if Sansa’s skin called for him, begged for his lips and teeth to nibble at every inch and Sandor certainly couldn’t refuse such an appealing demand. The only problem was that the girl was apparently oblivious to the temptation her own body presented to him. While she never squirmed or tried to chase him away, she was always so cold and stiff under his touch that he hadn’t insisted further and instead let her be each and every time. In those lonely moments, Sandor hadn’t been able to restrain himself from wondering if, stoic as she was, the little bird would truly resist if he raised her skirts, spread those smooth thighs of hers and buried himself in the depths of her cunt. Surprisingly, although his guess was she wouldn’t, Sandor had never crossed the line as he yearned for far more than a simple fuck from her. He wanted _all of her_ , in every bloody sense of the word. After every rejection, the man always promised himself he’d wait for Sansa to come to him but he nonetheless never failed to crack up and try his luck again. Evidently, each attempt was as useless as the last. The girl had basically shut down on him.

 

 _Why the hells should I be surprised that a young highborn girl is so horrified at being abducted by the likes of me? It was written in the fucking sky and all the buggering stars that shine in the night that things would go this way._ How Sandor had not envisioned that Sansa might react so if he tore her from the family she had waited tobe reunited with for almost a year was indeed a wonder to him in retrospect but at the time, he’d been too fucking blinded by all the sweetness she had given him to see straight. In the end, he was highly tempted to believe he couldn’t be blamed for his actions. After all, a woman shouldn’t be so generous with a man – especially one as _starving_ as him – if she didn’t intend to stick with him. It was her own _bloody_ fault really, Sandor kept repeating to himself. It was absurd and stupid that he felt guilty now. _How did I ever turn so damned soft?_ he wondered, scowl deepening and jaw clenching tightly. He had sincerely believed that after some reluctance and tears at first, the girl would end up being grateful he came back for her. _Stupid dog,_ he mused, spitting on the floor beside him.Perhaps Sandor was as naïve as his little bird, believing in his own foolish sort of song. Chances were though, that if he was patient enough, Sansa would eventually let go of her grudge and become all warm and tender for him again– it was a well known fact after all that stolen brides never resisted their forced husband for too long - but he would never find out now.

 

Sighing, Sandor let his hand creep under Sansa’s hood, slowly caressing her long curls and brushing her face with his fingers. Her skin was so soft and perfect under his touch; it was as if his dirty, killing hands caressed a gem not meant for him. The girl didn’t even flinch at the incongruous contact but her acceptance didn’t mean much, for even if she had willed it, in the proximity of a horse’s saddle her options of flight were obviously quite limited. She was as stuck with him as she had been with Joffrey, Sandor had to admit and the parallel frankly _disgusted_ him.

 

The girl’s recent stoicism was even worse than her ancient rejection, the man had realised pretty quickly. He had always secretly yearned for her smiles and gentleness, that was true enough, but most of all, her attention was what he had always willed her to give him. It hadn’t truly mattered at first, while they were still at the Red Keep, if her reactions were triggered by fright and disgust; all Sandor had wanted – no, _needed_ – was to watch her do something while knowing he was the _sole_ cause of her actions, even for the shortest of moments. He hadn’t demanding at the time; even seeing Sansa shiver or squirm in panic under his gaze had held its sweet appeal but his criteria had dramatically increased as he had travelled with her and learned what it felt like to be regarded with something other than fear by a woman he desired so fiercely. Now that he knew the taste of it, Sandor couldn’t bear losing it all. The current situation was made even worse by the fact that the little bird was by his side _at all times_ , so near and untouchable at once. He felt like a man dying of thirst damned to watch an unreachable river shine under the sun yards from him while never getting a chance to taste a single drop of its pure water. In that sense, Sandor regretted having abducted her. At least if he had left the little bird in her nest, the last image he would have kept of her would have been one of her moaning and writhing in ecstasy under his touch, overjoyed at having his cock sheathed deep inside her, not one of a pouting girl not even daring to look at him longer than a glance. There was no use regretting it. Whenever Sandor tried to figure out another manner he might have acted after the night Sansa had crept into his bed, he came face to face with a dead end. There was indeed no fucking way he possibly could have let her fly away without _at least_ one try at getting her back in his clutches. She was _his_ and meant to be. It was simply a desolating _pity_ that she didn’t realise how buggering true it was. The idea still tortured him and always would most likely.

 

The morning after Sansa had visited his bed and showed him every bloody thing she had to offer, Sandor had been completely amazed that the _shy girl_ he had known thus far truly hid such a fierce little creature behind her usually _so_ _proper_ facade. She was hot-blooded and willing in truth, although still innocent and hesitant but mayhap it was that mix of keenness and timidity that had aroused him so much. The little bird’s maidenly curiosity had sent his blood boiling to an extent he had _never_ experienced previously. Before that night, Sandor would never have dared to hope that Sansa might be interested in even a tenth of what he dreamed of doing to her. He had been mistaken though. The girl wanted him back with an eagerness that couldn’t be denied. Naught had ever been so beautiful to him as witnessing the object of his every desire beg for his cock to thrust _deeper_ into her folds. Her cunt had been wet and ready as no whore had ever been for him and the notion that his little bird could surpass in such a matter –without even realising it - these women that had made fucking their profession was simply mind-blowing. How could he have doubted her lust for him after that? She had been a maiden, oblivious to her own need but Sandor had seen it, touched it, drunk it… Her cunt had _screamed_ her longing and he had obeyed its command, fucking it senselessly while listening to Sansa’s sweet cries of pleasure.

 

And as if all that hadn’t been already fucking astonishing enough, not only had Sandor fucked her but his little bird had fucked him back too, relishing his cock like a famished beast craves food. She had jumped onto his lap as if she yearned to swallow his shaft and make it disappear into the boiling heat of her insides. At some moments, the friction between the skin of his member and the tightness of her cunt had been so intense that Sandor had almost been ready to believe his manhood might turn to smoke. Oh, but would that have been a nice way to lose his cock… He’d be ready to risk it again _anytime_.

 

Once he had been shown the door by the girl’s _kingly brother_ mere hours later, Sandor had had but one idea in mind: get Sansa back by any means necessary. Unfortunately, there had been but one option to make that happen. He’d need to steal her away. During his stay at Riverrun, Sandor had heard about a wedding that would soon tie the Tullys and the Freys that the Northerners would be heading to shortly. If he could follow their party as they travelled to the Twins without being noticed, he’d surely get the girl isolated sooner or later and then, it’d be only a question of seconds before he set his hands on her again.

 

It was of course slightly ridiculous that Sandor would go to so much trouble abducting the girl when she had been under his charge just a few weeks ago. No obstacle had prevented him from snatching her away back then… _apart from Sansa herself, of course._ True, she had been pretty generous with her kisses and smiles as they travelled the Westerlands and he couldn’t really have been blamed if he had read those gestures as an unspoken assent to do whatever he willed with her but Sandor had nevertheless not been fooled. There was no trusting the actions of a maiden as innocent as the last rain. If she consented to such intimacy between them, it was merely because she perceived him as a convenient first subject she could test her seductive might upon. In those conditions, kidnapping Sansa would have meant the end of the sweet little game she played and the beginning of a lifelong hatred instead. Some men wouldn’t have stopped themselves over such a trivial detail as a woman’s consent and Sandor envied them their simplicity. Life would have been made much easier if he had shared their carelessness. Instead, he had the bloody malediction of wanting Sansa _willing_ and therefore,he had forced himself to forgo any abduction plan and escorted her to the Riverlands as planned.

 

His view of the situation had been dramatically transformed however, once Sansa sneaked into his bed of _her own free will_ , offered him her maidenhead and told him she _loved him_. As much as the gift of her innocence had staggered him, the little bird’s unexpected confession was undeniably what triggered Sandor to reconsider his previous resolution. If she loved him, she’d want to be _with him_ and forgive him for kidnapping her once all was done. She’d even be grateful for his actions with time, or so Sandor had _stupidly_ believed…

 

With that unshakeable conviction clouding his better judgement, the man had not waited very long before turning back once his escort left him to his fate some way south of Riverrun. A column as big as the Northerners’ was anything but hard to locate and thus, it had been only a question of days before Sandor followed in its wake from afar. By night, he had made a habit of approaching the camp, getting increasingly bold as the days went by, until he was comfortable enough to bypass the useless sentries the girl’s buggering _brother_ used while knowing his intrusion would pass unnoticed. During those visits, Sandor had taken note of the soldiers and workers’ routine and of the hours he might expect them to be distracted. He had even beheld the little bird from afar on a few occasions and marked the placement of a number of tents in which she was likely to sleep in. From then on, Sandor had always favoured that area when he approached the camp and spent hours hiding in the distance in hopes of a chance to glimpse her. At one point though, he had grown tired of watching impassively and decided it was time he took the fucking matter into his own hands. He’d known it was best to act _and soon_ before they reached the Twins and the girl was caged in a castle once more.

 

Every morning, Sandor knew Sansa took a walk with that lanky friend of hers while the column got ready to leave. He’d never find a more convenient moment to get her in his reach and hence on the chosen day, the man had waited until he located the little bird - unmistakable among a thousand others even from afar with her long, red curls and light gait – and headed immediately towards the woods where the sentries were supposedly _hidden_. Naught said efficiency and discretion like the straightforward killing of anyone who might get in your way and thus Sandor had not hesitated an instant before cutting the throat of the few men he felt were more at risk of stumbling into him later. Once that was done, finding Sansa again had been just as easy. The only real _challenge_ of his morning had been to neutralise the _warrior wench_ without killing her. Not that he’d have lost any sleep over some additional blood on his hands, only, as the little bird was certain not to appreciate witnessing her friend getting slaughtered before her eyes, Sandor had made the extra effort and managed it just fine. With the wench bound and the sentries annihilated, Sandor had decamped from the area moments later, his precious prize over his shoulder.

 

The girl’s reaction at being captured had been similar to what Sandor had predicted but his own weakness at withstanding her rejection had surprised him. In a way, he had foolishly hoped - even though he’d never have dared admit it to himself - that she wouldn’t resist and that she’d forgive him and kiss him almost instantly. If she saw how much he wanted her - Sandor had believed - and how far he was willing to go to get her back, Sansa would doubtless jump at his neck the moment she saw him. Wasn’t that what women did when the man they _loved_ came back for them? She had indeed told him she _loved him_ and the sincerity with which she spoke the words had been indisputable, only in the end what did a young, barely-flowered girl know about _love_? He shouldn’t have taken her confession for granted as he had done so blindly or perhaps – and this was more likely - Sandor simply didn’t understand the damned feeling at all. _What’s a bloody brute like me supposed to comprehend about a thing as useless and fucking ridiculous as love anyhow?_ At the thought, the man snorted in derision. He knew more than he was willing to admit to himself, or else, why do something as _witless_ and _senseless_ as what he was doing just now? Why make such a bloody _irrational_ decision as the one he had two days ago?

 

The forest was getting sparser around them. They were indeed on the right track; just there on their left, Sandor could now discern the broken tower of a ruined castle they had come across a few days back. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the Twins and if the Northerners had left the place already, the column would be as easy to locate this time as it had been previously.

 

“The tower…” Sansa suddenly whispered, speaking her first words since dawn.

 

It was about time she realised they had turned back. Sandor was quite surprised she hadn’t taken notice before.

 

“It… it looks exactly like…” Jerking her head upward, the girl gazed at Sandor with wide, questioning eyes. When she saw his wry, unchanging expression, her mouth opened in shock. “You’re bringing me back?” she stated more than she asked.

 

At that, Sandor sighed in annoyance at himself. “Aye, I am,” he rasped wearily, shaking his head at his own stupidity and gazing anywhere but at the little bird.

 

A moment of a silence passed and the man was quickly irked that he didn’t get a greater reaction at his revelation. Scowling, he lowered his stare to the girl and clenched his jaw when he saw how little pleased she seemed with that delicate face of hers frozen like a statue and her usually white skin now ashen and sickly.

 

“Wasn’t that what you wanted, Sansa? I stole you away but despite what I’ve told you, _I’m about to give you back._ After you’ve cried _all these days_ for that damned family of yours, I’d have thought you’d at least _thank me_ for freeing you,” Sandor hissed between gritted teeth, his frustration getting thicker with each word he said.

 

Lips trembling, the little bird fixed disbelieving eyes on him. “You can’t really mean to do that, can you, Sandor?” she asked weakly.

 

The situation was growing increasingly less comprehensible to Sandor. While he had grudgingly come to understand that she might be unhappy about the prospect of spending the rest of her days with him, he had believed that once the girl learned he intended to give her back to her family, she might at least resume offering him the genuine smiles and gentle touches he had grown accustomed to. Sandor had badly wished for a few last nice gestures on her part - something sweet he could remember afterwards - whatever happened to him once they met with the Northerners again. Apparently, even that had been too high a demand. Instead of smiling kindly at him as he had assumed she would, the little bird was now staring at him with the same amount of terror shining in her eyes as if he had kidnapped her _all over again_. The realisation that he would _never_ get anything more of what he desired from her – even the chaste part of it - stirred the rage that had been boiling in Sandor’s veins for the last few days but that he had by some _fucking miracle_ been able to keep at bay until then. “Why, you think I’m riding in circles in a buggering _war zone_ just for the fun of it?!” he snarled at her.  “This is no jest, Sansa. I’m bringing you back. I’ve had enough of you wetting your bloody pillow every night.”

 

Seemingly shaken by the intensity of his reaction, the girl jumped back but she nonetheless managed to utter a faint retort after a few seconds. “I just don’t understand. How will you ever manage to get to my family?” she murmured, eyes gleaming with moisture. “There are _thousands_ of soldiers surrounding them!”

 

“You’re mistaken, little bird. Their number is _exactly_ what will make the job of finding them easy,” the man grunted flatly.

 

“That’s not what I meant, Sandor. I was wondering how you’ll ever be able to bypass all my brother’s men this time around. I’m certain the camp will be far better guarded now, after what happened. You’ll never succeed at getting near enough to the column to give me back without being noticed,” she stated, her tone anxious and convinced at once. “How could you _possibly_ manage such a thing?”

 

“Do I look like a fucking soothsayer to you?” Sandor retorted, a whole new wave of annoyance flowing over him. The burned corner of his mouth was twitching more persistently now. “I don’t have any fucking idea _how or if_ I’ll ever manage to decamp from your northern buggers but I truly don’t give a damned shit. I’ve made up my mind to lead you back to that _twice blasted_ _mother_ of yours so you can hide in her skirts again and I’ll do it, _whatever_ the buggering cost is.”

 

Apparently getting nervous, Sansa began to glance around her as if lost. “But, Sandor! If you do that, they’ll catch you and I don’t see them being merciful once they do!” she cried, voice breaking before she raised her gaze to him once more. “This is not a good idea, Sandor. I’m sure you’ll be seen and once you are, they won’t let you flee, you can be certain about that! They must surely think you took me against my will-”

 

“I _did_ take you against your will, Sansa! Don’t you fucking remember?” Sandor exploded, totally incredulous and angry at once.

 

“Yes, but they don’t know that I love you! They have no idea of what we shared!” Tears were welling in the little bird’s eyes and she pressed her hands over his chest, clutching at his armour. “Sandor, you have to turn back once more, you can’t-”

 

“Now what? You’ve changed your mind again? Because you’re _frightened_ for me?” He laughed bitterly at the thought. “Don’t be, I’ll be just fine.” Raising his stare to the horizon, Sandor tried to ignore the pleading look the little bird was giving him.

 

“No, Sandor! Listen to me!” she exclaimed desperately while clenching the sodden cloth of his cloak in her tiny fists. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and mixing with the light rain that still fell over the forest. “Forget everything I said and did. I don’t want you to get executed for me and we’ll _never_ make it into camp without you being seen… Sandor, _let’s turn back_. I’ll go with you to the Free Cities and won’t complain anymore, I promise.”

 

“You can’t keep on changing your mind like this, little bird. You’ll only confuse everyone around you,” the man sneered, his face lowered over hers but then he grew serious again. “I don’t want you _unwilling,_ Sansa. You’re not changing your mind because you want to follow me but only because you don’t want to have my death on your conscience,” he rasped in a low, sombre voice.

 

“No! You don’t understand. I’ve _always_ wanted you, Sandor,” Sansa exclaimed, out of breath through sobs and sniffs. “I just had to make a choice and as I wished to fulfil my destiny as a Stark, that’s the one I picked but I don’t care anymore-”

 

“Don’t lie to me. You still do,” the man snapped. His scowl deepening, Sandor spat on the ground beside him and sighed. “Now, stop squirming and calm that _damned_ _weeping_. I’m bringing you back to those foolish Northerners you love so much so you can be a bloody _Stark_ as you’ve made so damned clear you yearn to be more than anything else.” Bracing his back, Sandor raised his gaze from the girl. “And just so that you know, I don’t mind risking losing my head,” he added in a bitter growl. “It’s ugly anyhow and my life’s not worth _piss_.” 

 

A lightning bolt passing through her eyes, the little bird vigorously shook her head. “No!” she shouted before unexpectedly jumping from the saddle and running away from him.

 

“Sansa! What are you doing! You told me you wouldn’t try to flee from me again!” Sandor yelled. In a brusque and sudden movement, he halted Stranger while watching the little bird’s silhouette disappear into the thickness of the woods. Would he continuously need to race after her until the very last instant he’d have her under his care? It seemed to him at that moment as if it was all he had ever done. “Sansa, stop! Don’t be stupid! Where would you go if you lost me? There’s no one out there! You’d _die_ in the woods!” he shouted, jumping from his horse and sprinting after her.

 

Sandor hadn’t worn his armour the last time he had needed to chase her and the damned thing slowed him quite a lot now. He couldn’t let her lose him though; it would mean her death for certain. After all, it had taken the damned girl more than two full days before she finally noticed they had turned around. How could she ever possibly know where to go and how to subsist by herself in these conditions? A sweet little creature like her wasn’t meant for the real world. She had been trained her whole life to act the proper lady in every buggering situation; to sing, dance and stitch but these skills were totally useless outside of a castle. Said more plainly: her survival instinct was close to _non-existent_! The awareness of how helpless she’d become without him pushed Sandor to run even faster and yet, he was still quickly losing sight of her. _What a stupid, stupid little bird!_ he thought to himself. Without slowing down, he unclasped his bulky and soaked cloak from his shoulders and carelessly let it fall onto the forest floor behind him. If he ran faster freed of that extra weight, he couldn’t say for sure but anything was worth trying. There was not a fucking way in all the _Seven buggering Hells_ that Sandor would let Sansa flee from him only to die of hunger and thirst in the wild mere days after. If it had to come to that, the girl was far better off staying with him. When he caught her, perhaps he’d listen to her pleas and bring her along with him across the NarrowSea after all. Although, that was something they could discuss later. For now, all that mattered to Sandor was for the little bird not to vanish in these woods with naught more than the clothing she had on her back to shelter her from the cruelty of the weather. He wouldn’t allow her to die.

 

Just as he was getting increasingly out of breath, sweaty and worried the girl had indeed succeeded in losing him, Sandor glimpsed the pale grey of her cloak peeking through the branches some distances before him. The sight gave him a burst of energy and he began rushing toward Sansa with renewed ardour until he could discern her shape with more definition. Only, something was queer. The little bird had stopped moving and was standing in place, staring before her. _Good for me,_ the man thought even though her stillness woke an uneasy feeling in him. When a heartbeat later he had rejoined her at last, Sandor caught her by the upper arm. At the contact, the girl jumped and gazed up at him with eyes big and scared but the fear he saw in them was not directed toward him. His curiosity instantly piqued, Sandor raised his stare and looked right before them, the stench that filled the small clearing reaching his nostrils the very instant he saw the source of the little bird’s fright. A few yards from them, the dead body of a man was propped against a tree – or so Sandor believed before he saw the cadaver open his eyes and look in their direction.

 

“Wine… Please,” the sorry bastard begged in a voice that was even more hoarse than his own.

 

Feeling much better at realising how little of a threat the man they had stumbled upon was but most of all for having retrieved Sansa, Sandor relaxed and squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “It’s only a dying man, little bird. No need to be frightened.” Gulping, she looked up at him and nodded.  

 

“Wine…” the wreck repeated in his rough, pleading voice.

 

Mouth twitching, Sandor left the girl and walked toward him. “I don’t have any. I’m dying of thirst myself,” he replied truthfully.

 

Soft steps were heard from behind him and soon, the man felt the little bird timidly hook herself onto his arm. The long forgotten sensation of her affection almost brought him to smile but Sandor had learned years ago to keep his feelings from showing on his face. Scowling, he returned his attention to the dying man.

 

“I’ll give you water, if you want, and the gift of mercy,” he proposed flatly.

 

Squinting, the wreck began sweeping his red, feverish eyes from Sansa to him, studying them for some time, until his dry lips opened in shock. “I know who you are, both of you. You’re _the Hound…_ and the girl here… she’s the young Stark princess,” he muttered, sounding stupefied even though he might die any minute and by all logic, shouldn’t have given a rat’s arse about anything.

 

The discovery of their identity seemed to startle the little bird and she pushed her head against Sandor’s arm. Her hood had fallen and the rich colour of her hair shone under the dim light. However horrid the scene before him was, Sandor couldn’t stop himself from feeling exhilarated at her change of attitude and he had to fight the urge to nuzzle at her long curls.

 

“I heard about you both,” the wreck continued. “We all did. They tried to quell the gossips but the story of how the Lannister dog turned rabid and stole the young and beautiful sister of the king was too spectacular to stop spreading once it was known.”

 

 “He didn’t abduct me! I followed him willingly,” Sansa intervened, taking a step toward the wreck as if she wished to protect Sandor from a blow.

 

“No use lying to a dead man, little bird.” Raising a hand to her shoulder, Sandor gently pulled her against him. “Were you in one of the squads sent to find us?”

 

“I wish I’d volunteered,” the dying man rasped, falling into a fit of coughing at the end of his sentence. “I was looking forward to going to that _wedding_ … if only I’d known.”

 

“Known what?” Sansa swiftly asked, fear lacing her voice.

 

The wreck gazed at her for an instant with something like pity gleaming in his eyes. “You… you still haven’t heard?” Seemingly pondering something, he stared straight at Sansa as much as he could with his lack of strength. “Your captor has ironically saved your life, _young lady_. If your fate is better for it, it’s not for me to judge though.”

 

At hearing that, the girl tensed under Sandor’s touch. “What… what do you mean?” she demanded, her words weak and trembling.

 

“The wedding… it was a trick. They butchered us all, starting with the Young Wolf and his mother-”

 

“No! You’re lying!”

 

“It’s the truth I’m telling you, lass,” the poor bugger said, the hint of a sad smile curling his lips. “Look at me… it’s a wonder I even got that far-”

 

“No! I don’t believe you. People don’t do such things at weddings-”

 

“Shh, Sansa. Let the man talk,” Sandor muttered, tightening his hold on her. As if to endorse the veracity of the news, a cold wind suddenly rose and the sky grew dark and threatening. Nodding at the wreck, Sandor bade him to continue. “Speak. The girl needs to know.”

 

Apparently reluctant to follow a dog’s order, the dying man glared at Sandor for a heartbeat or two but then he obeyed and gazed at the little bird again. “The Freys yearned for vengeance, it seems. They got what they wished for. I’m only a soldier and don’t know much about any of what happened but I saw what I saw. They wanted to kill the Northerners and they did. They murdered the high heads firsts but no one was saved in the end. You’re all that’s left of your kin, lass.”

 

“No…” Sansa protested, although the tone she used made it clear she had understood. Shaking, she turned around to clutch at Sandor and began sobbing against him.

 

For a long moment, time was suspended. At a loss as to what he should do, Sandor was as petrified as the girl had been when he had found her here but he eventually shook himself and gathered her in his arms. “I’m taking her away from here. I’ll come back with some water for you afterwards,” Sandor told the wreck as he began striding into the woods again.

 

The walk to Stranger seemed to take forever. Sandor could feel the little bird’s frail body quiver in his arms as he marched and in response, he held her as tightly as he could without hurting her. He wished he knew what to tell her but as he had never been very skilled with words, he gathered staying silent was preferable. When they reached the stallion at last, Sandor settled the girl into the saddle and caressed her face and hair for an instant. “I’m leaving you for a few minutes. I’ll be back soon though. Don’t worry.”

 

Wordlessly, Sansa clung to him. Her eyes were filled with tears and Sandor was torn between feeling enlivened by her need for him and dejected by the sudden sorrow she was faced with. “I’m not going to be long, little bird. I’m not abandoning you.”

 

Once he had gently pushed her from him, he fished a water-filled wineskin out of the saddlebag and began striding into the woods again. The dying man was easily found and Sandor didn’t care to ask him any additional questions before he killed him. He had heard enough. On his way back, he recovered his cloak and cursed when he realised it had fallen into a puddle of muddy water. He wrung it out and tried rubbing off the worst of the dirt against a tree but got little result from his effort. When he rejoined the little bird and Stranger at last, Sandor had already decided he’d be riding all night if he could. There was no sense in staying in these parts any longer.

 

The next few days were spent in a blur of riding only interrupted a couple of hours at a time when they halted to rest and eat. The little bird stayed silent most of the time and only spoke when it was strictly necessary but her muteness didn’t bother Sandor anymore. He knew he had naught to do with her state and thus left her deal with her grief without uttering any complaint or feeling threatened by her attitude.

 

As they rode and slept, Sandor nearly always kept an arm folded around Sansa, all too eager to offer what comfort he might and the girl never tried to push him away. On the contrary, she always kept her small body pressed deeply into his and while she cried, she would snuggle against him, calming only once he’d wrapped his arms more firmly around her. While Sandor was more than willing to offer Sansa his touch, the same still couldn’t be said about his words. It wasn’t exactly that he was reluctant to share them, for he’d have given her anything he might. No, what stopped him had more to do with the man he was, or more precisely, the one he wasn’t. Even before he had left his father’s keep, Sandor had always known he’d grow to be a warrior and naught else and as such, developing the _courtly_ _art_ of conversation had been the last thing on his mind. It wasn’t as if he had any aptitude where social interactions were concerned but his lack of skills in such a useless field had never stuck him as a weakness. When he had followed Cersei to King’s Landing years later, his opinion on the subject had only been fortified. Quickly, he had realised how filled with whippersnappers the bloody court was and while the whole lot of them could flatter themselves, being refined talkers, none of those buggers would have had a chance surviving against Sandor in battle. Of what use were words when someone with a blade could cut you down so easily, however sophisticated and clever your attempts in swaying them to be merciful were? The unshakable logic of that reasoning had been one of the basics Sandor had always believed in and the notion that his taciturn nature might one day come to be a liability in any bloody manner would have been naught but laughable to him if anyone had dared suggest it. _How the fuck was I to predict that I’d one day come to have a dependant and fragile little bird under my care? I’m certainly not to blame if I didn’t prepare for the inconceivable._

 

Whatever tricks fate had played on them, a young highborn girl like Sansa was nevertheless certain to expect soothing whispers from her lover and yet, given his background, that wasn’t something Sandor could provide. His sternness and lack of sophistication were traits the little bird would need to learn to accept if she wished to be satisfied in her life with him. Thankfully, Sandor had no real worry that she wouldn’t. Even now, after all, she appeared content, as much as that was possible in her condition, with the silence and arms he had to offer. As for Sandor, he’d ride to the edge of the world with her quietly nestled against his chest if that was what she desired and would never find it in him to complain. The duty he felt to her was greater than anything he had ever envisioned for himself and he was queerly thrilled at the idea that she truly needed him now. Sandor had no stronger aspiration than to become the shield that protected her from the harshness of the world.

 

In some twisted way, the man felt tortured over the fact that Sansa’s misfortune had played to his advantage, that because of the disaster that had befallen her kin and people, she was his _for real_ as he had always longed for her to be. He knew he should be fucking _jubilant_ that fate had turned to his benefit for once and he cursed himself for being unable to rejoice over the situation as he ought to. The little bird’s dolour had irrevocably seeped into him, it seemed. Mayhap was it what _caring_ for someone felt like: sharing their heartaches even when logic commanded that you shouldn’t give a shit.

 

Yet however torn Sandor may have felt, he still knew that by abducting Sansa, he had unknowingly saved her from much worse than a life spent with him. Chances were she’d be dead if he hadn’t acted on his compulsion and stolen her away, or perhaps even more likely, she’d now share both bed and name with her family’s killers. In the end, it was a buggering mercy Sandor was such an untameable brute. It was indeed thanks to his reckless behaviour and possessiveness that the girl had escaped the Freys’ dirty clutches.

Of course, there were undoubtedly more appropriate suitors than him for such a highborn _maiden_ as Sansa in a house such as the Freys’, many of which were probably well-mannered and good looking but who would want to mix their blood with the people who had annihilated everything you loved? While Sandor’s face was burnt and hideous, the sight of it would at least never remind the little bird of the slaughter of her family. There were people uglier than him in this world and Sansa had once more had to realise it at her expense.

 

Still, as the days went by Sandor kept trying to ignore the lump he felt rising in his throat whenever Sansa broke into a new fit of sobs. There was no reason for him to regret her destiny - not even _slightly! -_ but he nevertheless kept wondering if there had been something he might have done to change the events. _You stupid dog! She’s yours! The gods have answered your every unspoken prayer, so why should you complain?_ _Life is good to you and the little bird will heal eventually. She’ll be thanking you later, when she comes back to her usual self_.

 

Throughout all this, Sandor was well aware that he’d had it pretty damned easy in the end. By saying no to any compromise and taking what he wanted, he had paradoxically become his victim’s rescuer but the beauty of it didn’t even stop there. Just before he and Sansa had learned the terrible news, Sandor had been about to reconsider his decision to return the girl to her kin. After he’d seen her cry and beg him so beautifully not to bring her back to her family at the risk of his life, there had been not a _bloody chance_ in all of Westeros that Sandor might possibly have resisted the temptation of taking her with him to Essos. He didn’t need to tell her that though. If she could keep on believing he had been willing to sacrifice himself for her and that naught could ever have possibly made him change his mind, it was all the better. He’d have her grateful to him in every sense of the buggering word. Life was beautiful. Or so Sandor logically should have thought.

 

****

 

Days had passed since the afternoon they had stumbled upon the dying man and learned the news of the Northerners’ massacre, although Sandor couldn’t have said how many even if his life had depended on it. The little bird didn’t cry so much now and while her bleakness was still undeniable, she was nevertheless getting more and more affectionate and tender toward him. Sandor would have been the worst of liars to pretend he didn’t enjoy that change in her. The girl would recover; she was a strong little thing despite appearances and that was certainly a source of pride to him.

 

His guilt was also fading. Sandor was now convinced he had done the right thing abducting the little bird even though he had not realised how true it was when he made the decision. Notwithstanding his growing certainty, it didn’t stop the man from getting increasingly weary of their intent travelling pace. He barely got to sleep on the best days but at least the worst of the danger was now behind them. Logically, any men who had been sent after them would have learned of their masters’ fate by now and quit the hunt. After all, working for ghosts is to no one’s benefit. With that in mind, Sandor had left the depths of the woods some time past and brought Stranger onto the main road. After days spent in the forest, the openness of the lane had made him feel exposed and uneasy at first but the dramatic increase in their speed was well worth the lack of cover.

 

The parts they were crossing lately were gradually growing less desolated than the ones they had previously. Villages and farms were beginning to sprout around them and after some reflection, Sandor had decided that if they passed an inn, renting a room would be the wisest thing he could do. They both badly needed the rest. Sansa was already half asleep in his arms and the risk that Sandor might follow her into the abyss of unconsciousness was getting higher with each hour that went by. Falling from the saddle was not something Sandor had much desire to experience and therefore, he kept fighting against the heaviness of his eyelids, trying to stay as alert as he could for any anomaly on the road but his strength was quickly deserting him. Chances were they’d need to sleep in the wild once more and yet Sandor’s stubborn determination kept him going.

 

The sky was already dark as tar when the little bird unexpectedly stirred in his arms. The man had been just about to believe she had fallen asleep for good and thus, he was slightly surprised when he felt her twist in the saddle.

 

“Sandor,” she breathed, gazing up at him. In the gloom, he could barely see her but the moonlight caught her eyes and her beauty was revealed to him once more. She looked drowsy but somehow, it only added to the perfection of the picture she made. In the blink of an eye, Sandor was absorbed by her stare. “You do realise you have saved me again? I owe you my life once more,” the little bird said in a voice as faint as a summer breeze. Turning around, she pressed her head into his arm. “You _always_ save me.”

 

Snorting softly at her comment, Sandor tiredly smirked into the darkness. “I came to the same conclusion myself, little bird,” he murmured with satisfaction.

 

“You’re always there for me, Sandor. _Always_ ,” the little bird whispered so softly the words were almost lost in the night. Shutting her eyes, she hugged his arm with the same innocent tenderness a child would hold its ragdoll.

 

Naught could ever have been more moving to Sandor than the blind faith the little bird now had in him. The idea that she trusted her life and destiny to him without showing a single sign of reticence woke all sorts of queer tingles in his core but strangely enough, the feeling was far from unpleasant. For the hundredth time since they had started their flight, he swore to himself and all the gods he didn’t even believe in that he wouldn’t disappoint her in that at least.

 

They had ridden for about an additional hour when Sandor finally glimpsed some light from afar. Before too long, the shape of a small village took form and simultaneously, Sandor’s hopes of sleeping in a proper bed were revived. The place was more hamlet than village, he quickly realised but there was indeed an inn in its centre and that was all he required. Sansa had been deeply asleep for some time now and the man decided he’d rather not wake her unless it was strictly necessary. If he could manage to bring her to a bed without disturbing her rest, her surprise at waking in a warm room would be all the stronger and Sandor yearned for naught more than to be the cause of some additional smiles from those luscious lips.

 

The hamlet was a puny thing- about ten houses or so – but the man suspected its size was one of the factors that had preserved it from the rigours of war. For as much as he could judge, the place had apparently been left intact. _Although, how long can it be expected to stay as such?_ he wondered, not truly caring to find out. He’d be gone on the morrow but not before having asked around if any of the villagers had changes of clothing to sell to Sansa or any of the other bloody things a woman was sure to need for her comfort. While Sandor didn’t have a damned clue of what that might be and really didn’t care one bit to learn about it either, he’d nevertheless get the little bird anything she asked him to purchase. It wasn’t as if he lacked the gold with all he still had left from the Lannisters and the purse Sansa’s brother had given him before he left Riverrun. _Mayhap the glorious King in the North would have been even more generous with me if he had known how events would unfold and foreseen that I would become his sister’s protector._ The idea made Sandor’s mouth twitch.If the Young Wolf had had access to such knowledge, the lad wouldn’t have gone to the damned wedding to begin with and never let him get anywhere near his sister either.The thought was a pure waste of time.

 

The inn was situated in a rather small house and the place was most likely empty that night, for when Sandor reached its step, the keeper was already waiting for them in its entrance, probably alerted by the sound of Stranger’s hooves

 

“Looking for a warm bed and a meal?” he asked by way of a greeting.

 

“Aye. I’ll take a room if you have one,” Sandor responded, adjusting his hood over his head. Somehow even as he did it, he realised any effort at disguise was useless. Anyone with a fit pair of eyes couldn’t perceive the two of them as anything but conspicuous.

 

Sweeping his gaze from Sandor to the little bird, the keeper gave him a wide, fake smile. “I have more than one room available, ser. The girl could get her own chamber if that was your wish,” he said while bowing his head in a show of respect.

 

Scowling, Sandor stared down at the man for an instant. Chances were he was only hoping for some extra income but the keeper’s assumption nevertheless irritated him. How could anyone question Sansa was his? “She’s _my_ woman,” he snapped without thinking. “Why the fuck would I waste my gold on an extra room?” It took a moment for Sandor to realise he had spoken the words perhaps a little too threateningly but thankfully, the keeper didn’t seemed the least impressed by his outburst.

 

 “Sorry if I offended you, ser. I certainly didn’t mean anything by that,” he replied, his annoying smile even wider than before. “Follow me inside. I’ll show you the way.”

 

Gently gathering the little bird in his arms, Sandor dismounted and walked into the inn’s warmth. _My woman_ , he inwardly repeated to himself, enjoying the sound of it. That’s what she’d be from now on and no one – not even all the buggering kings and queens that led the wars of this world - would ever change the veracity of it. Sandor knew he’d kill anyone who ever dared contest the truth of it without hesitation.

 

The keeper led him to a room on the second floor before going back downstairs to mind his business. Stepping inside, Sandor took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The place was far from a palace but it would do for the night. Anything was better than the precariousness of the woods anyhow and while the chamber was small, it was clean and had a fireplace and that was much more than Sandor had expected. Gently, he put Sansa on her feet and began freeing her from her wet cloak and damp dress. In the process, she roused for an instant and complained at being disturbed in soft moans but once she was down to her shift and laid under the covers, the girl shortly went back to her dreams.

 

The idea of leaving her was painful to him but Sandor still had Stranger to tend to, the keeper to pay and his saddlebag to retrieve. Reluctantly, he hurried down the stairs with the intent of being as effective as he might. While he was there, he’d make the most of it and get Sansa and him both food and drinks. After all, there was no denying he was starving – his stomach had kept complaining with loud rumblings all through the day – and some wine in his belly was never unwelcome.

 

Once Stranger was in the stables and cared for, Sandor entered the common room again, his saddlebag under his arm. The keeper promptly offered him some cold meat pie that had been left from the previous meal and began describing the dish as the finest creation anyone had ever set tooth over. Sandor almost rolled his eyes at his excessive eagerness but nevertheless accepted a few pieces of the pie without being begged, some of which he ate in place, while he kept the rest for Sansa. Before he left, he paid for everything and bought a couple of wineskins too, drinking a few gulps as he went up the stairs.

 

When at last he was back in the warmth of the room, where he longed to be, Sandor barred the door behind him and set the pie, wineskins and saddlebag on the table in the corner. Cautious not to wake Sansa, he began unburdening himself of his armour very attentively, taking care not to cause any unnecessary noise. Once the damned thing was all gathered in a pile on the floor, the man undressed himself, barely containing the disgust he felt at the stench of his garb. He wasn’t usually sensitive enough to give a shit about his own body smell but his little bird didn’t deserve to abide with that. Having gulped a few mouthfuls of wine and gotten rid of the last of his clothes, Sandor walked to the small basin that had been left on the table. Cursing at the bite of the ice-cold water on his skin, he proceeded to rid himself of the filth that covered him, using an old towel he found. While doing so, he never faltered from keeping an eye on Sansa’s sleeping form. There she was; the last northern princess, all for him and waiting. _The Queen in the North,_ Sandor mused, snorting a short, dry laugh. Although he didn’t give a rat’s arse about her claim, the idea strangely still held some sort of appeal to him.

 

More than anything else, Sandor longed to join his little bird and very soon, he was settling his tired body beside hers. The straw-filled mattress shifted under his weight as he lay down and a few twigs dug into his skin but no surface had ever felt more tender. Rolling onto his side, Sandor began gazing at the little bird’s shape and he was quickly stunned once more by her beauty. Sleep was begging for him to claim it but Sandor couldn’t surrender just yet. No, he needed to appreciate the prize he had won most unwarrantedly, to drink in the sight of it until he was drunk. The light of the fireplace wouldn’t be enough for that though and thus, Sandor swept his stare over the room. Beside him on the bedside table, an unlit candle stood and the man grasped it as soon as he glimpsed it. Jumping off the mattress, he brought it to the hearth and lit its wick with the flames before settling it back to its place. _Much better,_ he mused, eyeing Sansa’s perfection glowing under the orange light. He needed to see her in all her glory and admire her through the night as she unknowingly slept. As he retook his place by her side, he almost felt like one of those evil creatures the night crones often warned children about. Like them, he had crept into a sleeping _maiden’s_ chamber with the design of taking some of her purity for himself. The thought instantly aroused him.

 

Leaning on his elbow, Sandor let his stare rove over the girl’s dainty features as she breathed evenly and peacefully. She was so breathtaking, never had he laid eyes on a woman so perfect… and more astounding than anything else, _she was_ _his_. The notion was absurd but oh, so satisfying. Although he hadn’t removed her nightgown and a couple of thick blankets covered her body, Sandor was already hard as a rock. Her smooth, feminine face alone was enough to rouse the latent beast that slept in him. Purposely avoiding the most erotic parts of her body, he began caressing her as softly as he could and pressing himself against her. The thin fabric of her shift was teasing him as it brushed against his bare skin and all he yearned to do was to tear the buggering cloth apart and find his way to the warm sanctuary of her womanhood but he didn’t dare bother her sleep. He’d have plenty of time to claim her later and therefore, he resolved to content himself gazing at the flawless oval of her face and caressing her amazing red curls.

 

Each time the girl inhaled, her delicate nose and mouth moved and her pure, youthful skin stretched very slightly. The sight was beyond moving to him. _My woman,_ he repeated to himself once more, savouring the words. The gods had been terribly cruel to her but all the while, they had given him the most precious present a man could ever wish for. He’d keep her as jealously as he could.

 

Although Sandor had not faltered from his resolution to respect the little bird’s peace, his cock was aching to a point where it was getting _fucking_ unbearable. The pressure in his shaft was so intense that getting some of his seed out was actually more a question of sanity than a simple search for pleasure. With that in mind, Sandor seized the damned thing and began to stroke its length very slowly. He felt instantly better and rolled onto his back for more comfort all the while never detaching his stare from Sansa. The purity of the spectacle she made was certainly arousing to Sandor but the knowledge that he had already spoiled some of that innocence and triggered her maiden’s blood to leak between her creamy thighs with the very cock he held was even more stirring. Entranced by the almost mystical way her porcelain skin glowed under the dim light, the man increased the rhythm of his movement. His eyes racing madly between the tip of her shoulder that shyly peeked out of her shift, her angelic and serene features and the violent redness of her fine hair, Sandor let his climax hit him with not an ounce of restraint. He shook and panted, his heartbeat resounding loudly in his ears and sustained the movement of his hand with the same unwavering vigour until his balls were freed of any trace of excess seed. Eyes slitted open, the man inhaled and exhaled deeply while watching the dancing flame of the candle for a long moment afterward. Once he had regained some of his composure, it took him all the will he had to sit up and put it out. His exhausted body immediately falling back onto the mattress, Sandor didn’t even care about his seed drying into the covers and happily let the mist of sleep envelop him. Less than a minute later, he was snoring with his little bird tucked in his arms.

 

 

****

 

Soft lips were covering his face – unmarred skin and scars alike – when he awoke several hours later. Almost instantly, Sandor opened his eyes and saw his little bird leaning over his torso, blue eyes narrowed as she pressed her plump mouth over his face with no discrimination. _That girl’s fucking blind,_ Sandor thought to himself, astounded. Couldn’t she see what lay under her?

 

Seemingly pleased with the passionate look he was giving her, Sansa smiled shyly at him. “I love you, Sandor,” she whispered in a voice as sweet as honey.

 

Dawn was well upon them by then and rays of light were permeating the room, finding their way through its small window. Looking at her, Sandor had no choice but to admit the girl he had before him was even more stunning than he had believed on the previous night. In all the wide circle of the world, there was beyond a shadow of doubt not one woman that could rival her beauty. Her perfection didn’t stop there though. The little bird had been gifted with a heart as pure as that of the Maiden herself. Even after all the horror she had been faced with throughout the last few years, her kind, gentle nature had not been blemished to a single degree. The notion that such a goddess reposed over his torso, telling him she _loved him_ sent Sandor’s blood boiling instantly. Without hesitation, he rolled her over onto her back and pressed his mouth over hers. Sansa squeaked in surprise but shortly opened her lips for him, meeting his tongue with hers with a fervour matching his own. Timidly, she raised her lithe hands over his shoulders and began caressing the skin there before slowly lowering her palms and tracing the muscle of his upper arms with her fingers. Sandor was already hard and ready and the feel of her delicate hands only reminded him of another place where he’d like to be touched. Almost instinctively, he seized her wrist and brought her hand over his stiff shaft. At the contact, the little bird’s eyes widened and the sight made Sandor grin in contentment.

 

“See how _hard_ I am for you, Sansa?” he rasped wickedly.

 

Blushing, the little bird nodded shyly but despite her reserved expression, Sandor felt her slender fingers curl around his cock. Slowly, she began moving her fist up and down exactly as he had shown her a few weeks ago. Biting at her full lips, she lowered her eyes at first but swiftly gazed at Sandor again, apparently waiting for a sign of approval. Taken off-guard by her boldness, it took the man a couple of seconds for his surprise to fade but he nevertheless shortly narrowed lustful eyes at her and bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. The girl’s eyes lit at the sight of his twisted face and Sandor had to wonder once more how crazy she was. _Just enough for you, dog,_ he decided, grin broadening.

 

Laying his hands on her body, Sandor began cupping her tits but the fabric of her shift was getting in the way. “Take that off,” he softly whispered in her ear while pulling at it. “I won’t suffer being the only naked fool in this bloody bed for very long.”

 

Giggling, Sansa got on her knees and pulled the damned piece of cloth over her head. The shift had not even reached the floor when Sandor grasped her by the waist and brought her over the mattress again. Just as soon his hands were trailing down her curves, seizing her underclothes on their way and making history of those too.

 

Although Sandor had seen his little bird naked before, he felt as excited as if she was revealed to him for the very first time. The circumstances they were in this morning were indeed much different than those of their first night together. The room where her deflowering had taken place had been badly lit and windowless for one and Sandor hadn’t been in his best state either with all the wine he had drunk during the evening. Things were much different now though, for with each passing minute, the sunbeams were getting stronger, bathing Sansa in their crisp light. _And besides that, I’m as sober as a fucking newborn,_ the man mused to himself. On the previous night, he had only drunk about half of a wineskin and to him that was really only a starter. _All the better,_ he concluded with a smirk.

 

Her delicate body lying on its back, Sansa was displayed in all her bloody splendour. Even in Sandor’s most perverted fantasies, his little bird had never surpassed the vision she was now. Her nearly white skin was flawless and seemed as smooth as polished ivory. As could be expected of a girl of her youth, Sansa was very slim with a waist so small he could certainly hide it completely under the circle of his two hands. The roundness of her firm tits was almost shocking in a stirring sort of way next to her thinness and the curve of her hips was similarly enhanced by the contrast. Pink and adorable, her hard nipples were pointing at the sky as if _begging_ to be sucked and nibbled at. Sandor was just about to answer their prayers when his attention got caught elsewhere. Between the silky perfection of her thighs, hair as red as that on her head grew and the man was taken by an urge to find his way to the sweetness he knew was hidden there the instant he laid eyes on it. Just looking at her, he could feel his mouth water and his cock stir in frustration. He needed to fuck her and badly.

 

When Sandor finally gazed in her eyes again, the little bird was looking at him with a mix of innocence, passion and desire that nearly sent him over the edge of madness. In a heartbeat, he was covering her small body with his heavy one, well aware that he’d never be able to wait very long before he spread her legs and took her like the beast he was. Their naked skin rubbed against one another as Sandor kissed and nuzzled at the girl’s throat and hair, her sweet moans only encouraging him to continue. Yearning for more of her pretty song, he lowered his hand over the silkiness of her folds and began caressing her there with an attentive care he had scarcely ever showed. The girl’s groans instantly became more frantic and the sound finished convincing Sandor that he immediately needed to fuck her. Plunging a finger into the depths of her cunt to make certain she was ready for him, the man was elated when he found her even more soaked than he remembered from their first time. Only a buggering septon would refuse a woman his cock in these conditions and Sandor was _anything_ but that.

 

With no additional foreplay, he aimed the head of his cock against her entrance and began thrusting his shaft into her cunt, careful not to go too fast although that was all he really longed to do. Sansa was squirming and sighing under him and when – halfway inside her - he gazed at her face and saw how tense it looked, Sandor wondered for an instant if the process still pained her. Just as he was about to enquire about it, the little bird bit at the plump pinkness of her bottom lip and opened her eyes slightly, lust gleaming in them.

 

“Oh, Sandor,” she then whimpered softly, in a voice that definitely sounded more delighted than distressed.

 

Relieved, the man smirked at her enthusiasm and resumed sheathing his cock until its length was completely hidden inside the little bird’s belly. Once he was confident there was no danger of tearing her sensitive skin, he began moving his hips against hers. Her insides were slick and willing, ready for him as no woman should be and the sensation of that inviting tightness was all Sandor needed to lose his wits completely. In an instant, all rational thoughts were chased from his mind by that primitive part any male had in him. A slave to his animalistic instinct, the man increased his speed and began to thrust more frantically, well aware that he’d only know respite once he’d planted his seed deeply between her thighs.

 

Brow buried in the pillow, Sandor had almost forgotten himself for good when he abruptly remembered he wasn’t fucking a mere whore. No, Sansa was anything but that and a woman of her quality required to be admired while she was taken. He’d worship her like a bloody goddess as he fucked her, Sandor decided, and watched her face as she came.

 

With that in mind, he calmed himself, braced his back and got on his knees without letting his cock slip out of the little bird’s cunt. The girl’s long legs were propped against his torso, her feet resting against his shoulders and Sandor couldn’t resist the urge to nuzzle their soft arches on the way. Sansa giggled at the sensation and the sound of her soft laughter only added to the man’s elation. While their new position wouldn’t allow him to kiss her, the view he had of the little bird’s body was amazing. Seizing her hips with both hands, Sandor began letting his shaft enter her very slowly. With each of his movements, he could see Sansa arching her back to meet him and her face contorting with pleasure. Soft moans kept escaping her luscious mouth and getting louder with every thrust. Stretched around his width, the plump lips of her cunt stirred around him and caressed his cock as he shoved it inside her in the loveliest lover’s embrace he had ever beheld. Engrossed by the sight of their mingling bodies, the man suddenly pulled his gleaming manhood out of the girl’s warmth and watched in fascination as it re-entered nearly as smoothly as a warm knife cutting through butter.

 

The view of his manhood sliding so perfectly into her transporting him, Sandor raised his gaze to the little bird’s face and stared into her eyes. The passion and longing he saw in them was undeniable. She was relishing the feeling of their sensitive skins as much as he was as they rubbed and joined in the most intimate manner possible. They shared the same thirst and hunger at that moment, their coupling being the centre of the world for both of them. The realisation was enough for Sandor to lose it completely. His peak would be coming on him shortly and for a heartbeat, he considered pulling his cock out of her burning cavern but then stopped himself. Why should he bother? She was his now with no family left to shame if he planted a bastard in her belly. With that appealing excuse in mind, Sandor gifted her with his seed, grinning when he saw how unconcerned she appeared by the present he had bestowed upon her as she came to completion herself.

 

A few minutes later, Sansa was resting against his torso and lovingly caressing the hair on his chest.

 

“Sandor?” she suddenly asked, raising her head to gaze into his eyes.

 

“What’s that, little bird?” the man replied with a satisfied smile, tightening his arm around her.

 

“Promise me you’ll always be with me,” she demanded softly, her eyes shining with hope. “Tell me you’ll never abandon me.”

 

Snorting a short laugh, Sandor shut his eyes and smirked. Did she really doubt he’d make certain to be the only man who’d ever get to know the taste of her sweet love? She might come to regret his possessiveness with time but she’d certainly never need to complain about him _forsaking_ her. “Aye, Sansa, I promise. Till the day I die, you’ll be the center of my world.”

 

His statement seemingly pleasing her, the little bird snuggled against him, holding Sandor with more tenderness than he even knew existed. “While I was in King’s Landing, I prayed for a knight to come and rescue me,” she breathed so very softly after a few heartbeats.

 

At that, Sandor snorted in derision.

 

“Don’t mock me, Sandor! With all the stories and songs I have heard and sung throughout my childhood, it’s only natural that as a hostage I dreamt of something similar. What other hope did I have?”

 

“Aye, perhaps you’re right,” the man grudgingly admitted. After all, there was no denying that the girl had been the most naïve thing to ever enter the Red Keep when she arrived at the capital. She was still innocent most of the time but she had nevertheless learned her lesson the hard way and grown quite a bit since then. “You’ve been forced to lose a lot of your illusions through that harsh journey of yours, haven’t you, little bird?”

 

“Some… but not all,” Sansa answered with a mischievous smile. Sandor narrowed his eyes at her with suspicion. “After I prayed for a knight to save me, I was disappointed at first. I believed the gods hadn’t heeded my demand… but I was wrong, _so wrong_.”

 

The discussion was not going in a direction Sandor enjoyed very much. _Knights,_ he mused with contempt while losing his smile. Why the fuck did she need to bring up those bloody _bastards_ in their bed for?

 

Her head leaned against his chest, Sansa had not noticed the change in the man’s demeanour and continued with her inane assertion with the same dreamy voice. “Ever since I first arrived in King’s Landing, you were always there to protect me… even when you didn’t realise it! You saved my life many a time before we left the capital and then volunteered to escort me to my family because _you knew_ you were the only one with whom I’d be safe. Later, when your mission was done, you came back to get me and although you didn’t know it, while doing so you saved my life _again_. Sandor, you _are_ the knight I prayed for. _You’re my knight_.” With that, she wrapped her arms around him and held him as strongly as her thin arms allowed.

 

 _Her knight,_ Sandor repeated to himself, jaw clenched tightly.Didn’t the damned girl learn anything from the fucking shit storm that had blown over her life for the last few years? She seemingly hadn’t heeded a single buggering word that Sandor had ever told her. Those countless occasions where he had attempted to teach her some much needed wisdom and given her advice had apparently been lost to thin air as if they had never taken place at all. The notion of her incurable foolishness was beyond frustrating to Sandor at that moment. By all the _Seven bloody Hells_ , how Sansa could still be willing to believe in such _fucking_ _idiocies_ was beyond him. He was no _knight_! Hadn’t he told her enough already? Highly irritated, Sandor was just about to push the little bird away and share his wrath with her when something suddenly hit him.

 

Just as Sansa’s life had been shattered by her arrival in King’s Landing, Sandor’s existence had been turned upside down from the moment he had set eyes upon her. She had been Joffrey’s betrothed back then and he the Lannister dog and by all logic, he shouldn’t have given a fuck about the heartaches and ordeals of this stupid northerner girl. Why should a brute like him feel any sort of responsibility toward a _traitor’s_ daughter no one cared about? There had been no rational answer to that question but there had been no denying either that Sandor felt compelled to protect her. Every fibre of his being had been hopelessly attracted to her and his interest and curiosity had shortly turned into obsession. While they were at the Red Keep, the man had quickly begun tracking her whereabouts and following her around during his free time to assure himself of her safety. A helpless little thing like her needed a protector and though she had ignored it at the time, he had already acted thus. At court, anytime Joffrey was cruel toward her, Sandor would attempt to soothe him and draw his attention elsewhere. While he did not always succeed where the king was concerned, he nevertheless stopped Sansa from pushing the little bastard off the battlements and even saved her from the mob on the day of the bread riot. Progressively, his protectiveness had evolved into devotion and even before the man had had a chance to realise it, every fucking detail of his life had become _about_ _her_. All he had desired was to be there for her, to be her bloody _saviour_ … It was without a doubt the _very_ reason he had volunteered to be her escort to the exchange.

 

His mind racing at a hundred miles an hour, Sandor finally came face to face with the truth. Chances were that in the end, he _was_ as foolish as those _bloody knights_ he despised so much. Like them, he’d been ready to move mountains if the effort might make the lady he served _happy_. It was beyond pathetic but Sandor had seemingly reached that level where Sansa was concerned. The idea was infuriating - but aye - she _indeed_ had the right of it. _He was_ the bloody saviour she had prayed for. If she wished it, he’d take her to the edge of the world, avenge her whole family and kill any bugger who so much as touched a _single_ lock of her hair. He’d become a _slave_ to her happiness for the rest of eternity if it meant she allowed him to stay by her side. He was _hers_ as completely as anyone could ever become.

 

Shutting his eyes in a queerly pleasant despair, the man waited for the bitterness he expected to appear at the back of his throat while he prepared to respond. It never came. Confused, he nonetheless growled his reply.

 

“Aye, Sansa. I am. Your… _knight_.”

 

 

THE END

 

**_So here’s the end of a year-long writing process for me. I hope you all liked reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would really love to get your comments on this chapter, the ending and the story in its whole if you have a minute or two to spare. :)_ **

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**_And if anyone is wondering, yes, I’ll be writing other fics. I’m a SanSan addict!!!_ **


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